Dr.  Walter  E.  Traprock  and  Snak 


MY 
NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

THE  RAW  A  AT  THE  POLE 


BY 
WALTER  E.  TRAPROCK 

F.R.S  S.E.U.,  N.L.L.D. 

AUTHOR  OP  "THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  KAWA" 

^T  -S-^-'-QS—    ^>  Yvfl_l=j_X-vx  - 

Q 

WITH    TWENTY-ONE   FULL   PAGE   ILLUSTRATIONS 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

•Knickerbocker  press 

1922 


Copyright,  1922 

by 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 

First  Printing,  September  1022 
Second  Printing,  September  1922 


DEDICATED 

TO 

FOX,  SNAK,  YALOK,  LAPATOK 
AND  KLIPITOK 

(THE  ONLY  ESKIMOS  i  EVER  LOVED) 

AND 

SAUSALITO 


523412 


FOREWORD 

BY 

IRVING  T.  GROSBEAK,  R.O.T.C. 

AT  DURFEE  COLLEGE,  XENIA,  O. 

For  hundreds  of  years  men  have  struggled  amid 
snow  and  ice  to  reach  one  or  the  other  of  the  earth's 
poles.  Why?  What  has  attracted  them?  What 
has  been  the  lure  which  has  led  them  from  warm 
firesides  and  comfortable  radiators  to  suffer  the 
rigors  of  a  most  annoying  climate  ? 

We  search  in  vain  among  the  writings  of  modern 
polar  explorers  for  a  satisfactory  answer  to  this 
question. 

In  earlier  days  we  find  credible  reasons  for  this 
fanatical  zeal,  reasons  which  were  material  and  com 
mercial.  In  the  dark  ages  we  know  that  hardy 
Norsemen  sought  an  Ultima  Thule  beyond  the 
Arctic  Circle.  The  Irish  also  claim  credit  for  the 
earliest  discoveries.  They  would.  These  voyages 
were  mere  forays  undertaken  with  the  hope  of  ad- 

7 


8  FOREWORD 

vantages  in  barter  and  exchange.  Following  the 
establishment  by  Columbus  of  the  globular  theory 
of  earth  formation  we  read,  likewise,  of  many  futile 
attempts  to  reach  the  fabled  wealth  of  India  by 
short  cuts  and  northwest  passages.  The  adven 
turous  Cabots,  fearless  Frobisher  and  gallant  Gil 
bert  were  mainly  occupied  with  material  aims,  the 
securing  of  additional  colonies  for  the  crown, 
additional  gold  for  the  royal  treasury.  They  were 
out  for  the  cush. 

But  when  we  turn  to  modern  days  in  which  the 
forbidding  character  of  the  northland  has  been  well 
understood  we  are  more  puzzled  to  find  a  reason 
able  explanation  for  its  fascination.  We  meet  fre 
quently  that  strange  phrase,  "the  lure  of  the 
North,"  which  is  later  described  in  terms  of  un 
speakable  hardships.  We  are  told  that  this  or  that 
expedition  was  undertaken  in  order  "to  add  to  the 
sum  of  human  knowledge"  though  that  addition 
proves  to  be  a  series  of  tidal  observations  and  baro 
metric  readings  which  could  have  been  arrived  at 
with  sufficient  exactness  by  scientific  computations. 

Moreover,  without  belittling  the  courage  and  de 
termination  of  our  gallant  Peary,  it  is  evident  that 
his  exploit  was  not  discovery  in  its  strictest  sense. 
The  pole  had  been  located  for  centuries  as  being 


FOREWORD  9 

the  exact  point  of  convergence  of  the  meridional 
lines.  Its  precise  position  was  known.  To  reach  it, 
then,  was  a  problem  in  transportation  rather  than 
one  of  actual  discovery.  This  problem  Peary  solved 
magnificently  and  since  that  memorable  April  6th, 
1909,  the  flags  of  the  United  States,  Delta  Kappa 
Epsilon  (Gnu  Chapter),  the  world's  Ensign  of 
Peace,  the  Navy  League  and  the  Red  Cross  have 
flapped  concertedly  at  the  top  of  the  world. 

And  yet  the  mystery  has  remained.  We  can  not 
read  the  stories  of  these  brave  men,  from  the  most 
successful  to  the  least,  without  wondering  what  it 
was  which  actually  drew  them  into  the  regions  of 
eternal  ice  and  snow.  We  can  but  suspect  some 
great,  unrevealed  truth,  some  untold  secret  lying 
back  of  the  veil  of  fog,  shrouded  in  the  darkness  of 
the  long  Arctic  night. 

May  we  not  well  ask,  "Has  the  entire  truth  been 
told?  has  the  last  word  been  spoken  which  will  for 
ever  answer  the  natural  question,  why  go  there?" 

It  has  remained  for  Walter  E.  Traprock  to 
answer  that  question  in  no  uncertain  terms.  The 
writer  has  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  since  the 
perusal  of  Dr.  Traprock's  log  the  entire  northern 
question  has  been  illuminated  with  perpetual  sun 
shine. 


10  FOREWORD 

It  is  not  within  the  province  of  this  foreword  to 
go  into  details.  The  reader  can,  at  the  close  of  this 
book,  lay  it  down  with  the  thought  that  he  knows 
the  whole  story  of  the  North,  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  a  lot  else. 

But  it  would  be  wrong  for  us  to  lay  our  pen 
aside  withou^  word  of  explanation  as  to  how  the 
Traprock  Polar  Expedition  came  to  be  undertaken, 
for  the  circumstances  were  at  once  so  dramatic  and 
unusual  as  to  warrant  their  preservation  in  definite 
form.  In  the  spring  of  1921,  following  Traprock's 
amazing  discovery  of  the  Filbert  Islands,  a  meet 
ing  of  the  Explorers  Union  of  the  United  States 
was  held  in  the  Federation  Rotunda  in  Cambridge, 
Mass.  The  name  of  Traprock  was  in  every  mouth 
and  to  many  it  was  distinctly  unpalatable.  A  three 
days  meeting  resulted  in  the  formation  of  the  Trap- 
rock  Polar  Expedition.  One  half  of  the  necessary 
funds  was  supplied  by  the  Federation,  the  re 
mainder  being  pledges  by  individuals.*  But  here  is 
the  dramatic  truth  which  has  never  before  been 
stated. 

THE  FEDERATED  EXPLORERS 
NEVER  EXPECTED  DR.  TRAPROCK  TO 
RETURN! 

*  All  of  these  individual  pledges  are  still  outstanding. — Ed. 


FOREWORD  11 

The  entire  expedition  was  a  deliberate  plot  on 
the  part  of  jealous  scientific  men  to  forever  remove 
from  the  field  of  action  their  most  brilliantly  suc 
cessful  rival.  How  this  dastardly  effort  failed  is 
told  in  the  succeeding  pages,  which  add  fresh  lustre 
to  the  crown,  fresh  laurel  to  the  brows  of  America's 
intrepid  son,  Walter  E.  Traprock. 

A  mere  statement  of  the  fact  that  the  first  con 
dition  of  Traprock's  contract  was  that  he  should 
not  only  reach  the  Pole  himself  but  that  he  should 
take  his  ship  there  will  indicate  the  handicaps  which 
were  imposed  from  the  start. 

Did  Traprock  flinch  or  evade?  Did  he  hesitate 
or  shilly-shally. 

Let  the  ice-bergs  answer!  Let  the  seals  bark 
reply !  Let  the  north  wind  howl  its  answer. 

Better  still,  let  the  testimony  of  Traprock  be 
graved  on  the  Palisades  of  Time,  that  the  world 
may  know  forever  just  exactly  "Why  Explorers 
Leave  Home!" 

IRVING  T.  GROSBEAK. 
Hall  of  Applied  Ceramics3 
Durfee  College,  Xenia,  O, 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 

The  Origin  of  the  Expedition.  A  memorable  meeting. 
Inklings  of  a  plot.  My  innocent  enthusiasm.  Our  per 
sonnel.  I  put  the  proposition  up  to  Triplett  .  Page  17 

CHAPTER  II 

Our  triumphant  departure.  A  man  missing.  Wigmore's 
gallant  embarkation.  The  Kawa  herself.  A  new  idea  in 
construction.  A  few  boresome  details  .  .  .  Page  31 

CHAPTER  III 

The  choice  of  a  route.  Off  at  last.  We  take  aboard  a 
passenger.  Seeds  of  discontent.  Into  the  long  twilight. 
Radio  reversals.  The  ice  at  last.  Trouble  with  our 
water-line.  Its  happy  solution  .  .  .  Page  55 

CHAPTER    IV 

We  reach  the  polar  cap.  The  strange  incident  of  the 
missing  Orders.  Who  stole  the  papers?  The  Arctic 
summer.  A  sportsman's  Paradise.  Notes  from  my 
journal.  Whinney's  sad  experience  .  .  Page  79 

CHAPTER  V 

The  last  ten  miles.  A  mental  observation.  We  lose  our 
magnetic  bowsprit.  The  Big  Peg  at  last!  "The  Lady, 
first!"  We  celebrate  our  arrival.  I  glimpse  a  vision. 

Page  103 

13 


14  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VI 

Fatal  procrastination.  Our  one-dimensional  position.  An 
extraordinary  ornithological  display.  I  confide  in  Swank. 
His  plan.  I  capture  my  vision.  The  Klinkas.  An  em 
barrassing  incident Page  131 

CHAPTER  VII 

Still  procrastinating.  Our  pastimes  at  the  Pole.  An 
exchange  of  love-tokens.  Ikik's  avowal.  Caught  in  the 
embrace  of  the  Aurora Page  163 

CHAPTER  VIII 

The  Arctic  Night.  The  temptation  of  Traprock.  The 
pros  and  cons  of  falling.  We  solve  an  age-old  riddle. 
Our  Polar  Christmas.  The  love-philtre.  Abandonment. 

Page  181 

CHAPTER  IX 

Sausalito's  strategy.  Orders  must  be  obeyed.  We  turn 
southward.  The  parting.  Mutiny  and  desertion.  In  the 
grip  of  the  Ice  King.  A  fight  to  the  finish.  Victory. 

Page  205 

CHAPTER  X 

In  home  waters.  The  celebration  in  our  honor.  And 
what  of  my  companions?  Reveries  and  Recollections. 
The  End Page  229 


"  The  Camera  Cannot  Lie" 
ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

DK.  WALTER  E.  TRAPROCK  AND  SNAK  . 

Frontispiece 

TRIPLETT  THE  UNDAUNTED        ...  23 

UN  DEJEUNER  A  LA  BOUGIE        ...  35 

WHAT  THE  WELL-DRESSED  EXPLORER  WILL 

WEAR 47 

THE  BIG  HUNTING 59 

THE  Two  BEARS 71 

THE  NINE  O'CLOCK  BOTTLE        ...  83 

INTENSIVE  OPTIMISM 95 

THE  AVOWAL        ......  107 

ABOUT  TO  BE  CAPTURED        .        .        .        .117 

SOMETHING  NEW  IN  DRAMATICS  .        .        .  127 

AFTER  THE  BATH         .....  137 

DINNER  is  SERVED         ....         .  147 

A  FAR-OFF  FASHION  PLATE        .        .        .  157 

15 


16  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


A  NlMROD  OF  THE  NORTH  .  .  .  .167 
AN  ARCH  ARCHEOLOGIST  ....  177 
THE  BATTLE  ON  THE  BRINK  .  .  .  137 

ODE  TO  THE  AURORA 197 

A  MOMENT  MUSICAL  .....  209 
DIRTY  WORK  AT  THE  IGLOO?  .  .  .221 
A  CONSULTATION  ......  233 


PHOTOGRAPHS  BY 
N.  COURTNEY  OWEN 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 


CHAPTER   I 

The  Origin  of  the  Expedition.  A  memorable 
meeting.  Inklings  of  a  plot.  My  innocent 
enthusiasm.  Our  personnel.  I  put  the  propo 
sition  up  to  Triplett. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

CHAPTER  I 

"Mush!" 

The  cry  of  command  rang  out  on  the  frosty  air. 

"Mush!" 

Again  the  surrounding  ice  echoed  the  word  which 
seems,  more  than  any  other,  to  tell  the  whole  story 
of  the  North. 

At  its  repetition,  my  sturdy  followers  hurled  their 
bulks  against  the  trace-collars  while  a  babel  of 
exhortation  shattered  the  silence.  "Let's  go!" 
"We're  off."  "Attaboy!" 

The  Traprock  Polar  Expedition  was  on  its  way! 

We  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  great  polar-pack. 
Those  of  my  readers  whose  knowledge  of  ice  packs 
is  limited  to  those  which  can  be  wrapped  in  an  ordi 
nary  hand-towel  can,  of  course,  form  no  impression 
of  the  magnitude  and  desolation  of  the  scene  which 
lay  before  us.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  .  .  . 

But  I  am  far  north  of  my  narrative.    It  would 

19 


2Q        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

be  an  obvious  injustice  to  my  companions  and  fel- 
low-polarists  to  omit  mention  at  this  time  of  the  per 
sonnel  of  our  extraordinary  expedition,  the  most 
complete  and  carefully  organized  that  ever  set  out 
toward  the  Big  Peg. 

Let  us  go  back,  then,  in  memory  to  the  eventful 
meeting  of  the  Explorers  Union,  held  in  Cambridge 
on  Friday,  April  1st,  1921.  I  can  see  the  picture 
with  vivid  distinctness,  the  shining  bald-heads  and 
snowy  crowns  of  the  aged  members,  o'er  arched  by 
the  larger  but  no  more  dignified  dome  of  the 
Rotunda  itself,  the  bright  spots  of  light  on  the 
polished  mahogany  table,  the  swift  fingered  sec 
retary,  who  had  gorgeous  henna  hair,  I  remember — 
I  can  see  it  all; — and  I  can  hear  clearly  the  voice 
of  old  Dr.  Waxman,  the  President,  (whose  exploits 
in  the  Ant- Arctic  will  be  well  remembered,*)  as  he 
rose  and  said, 

"Well  then,  gentlemen,  it  is  settled.  Traprock 
must  go." 

The  company  as  one  man  echoed  the  President's 
remark. 

"Traprock  must  go!" 

With  the  sound  of  this  verdict  ringing  in  my  ears 
I  delivered  a  short  speech  of  appreciation.  Little 

*  "Ants  of  the  Ant-Arctic"  by  W.  W.  Waxman,  F.O.B. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        21 

did  I  realize  at  the  time  the  sinister  influences  which 
had  been  at  work  to  bring  about  the  very  result 
which  so  filled  my  heart  with  pride.  Little  did  I 
know  that  among  the  men  who  sat  by  my  side  that 
evening  sharing  with  me  the  hand  and  hip  of  friend 
ship,  passing  me  an  occasional  peanut  from  the  store 
which  the  President  was  cracking  with  his  gavel, 
little  did  I  imagine  that  among  them  were  some  to 
whom  the  words  "Traprock  must  go"  meant  a  far 
different  thing  from  what  it  did  to  me.  But  as  old 
Tertullian  has  it,  "Nemo  me  impune  lacessit" — 
"What  you  don't  know  \von't  hurt  you";  and  so 
from  a  full  heart  I  thanked  them. 

At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes,  President  Wax- 
man  interrupted  me  to  ask,  "When  can  you  start?" 

I  heard  one  of  the  older  members  whisper,  "Not 
'when  can  he  start?'  When  can  he  stop?" 

"Now."  I  answered  with  characteristic  brevity, 
giving  the  whispering  member  a  look  which  he  will 
never  forget. 

The  meeting  broke  up  forthwith.  Before  leaving 
the  Rotunda,  Adolph  Banderholtz,  Secretary-for- 
Polar- Affairs  of  the  Explorers  Union  (which  I 
shall  hereafter  refer  to  as  the  E.U.)  handed  me  a 
typewritten  list  of  names. 

"These  are  our  nominations  for  the  expedition," 


TRIPLETT  THE  UNDAUNTED 

Captain  Ezra  Triplett,  the  navigator  of  Dr.  Traprock's  metamor- 
phic  yawl  needs  no  introduction  to  students  of  marine  accomplish 
ment.  To  lay- readers  perhaps  a  brief  preamble  is  in  order.  Born  a 
not-too-simple  son  of  New  Bedford,  Mass.,  Triplett  has  climbed  the 
rope-ladder  of  success  from  cabin-boy  to  Captaincy,  from  poop-deck 
to  mast-head.  Gifted  with  uncanny  nautical  skill  this  Captain 
Courageous  is  equally  at  home  on  ice. 

Seldom  if  ever  has  the  camera  been  more  successful  in  catching 
the  very  soul  of  the  sitter,  who  in  this  case  is  standing.  But 
whether  assis  or  debout  Ezra  Triplett  is  always  master  of  the 
situation.  The  animals  in  the  background  are  not  dogs  but  Amoks, 
those  wild  vulpines  of  the  North  which  have  been  trained  by  hand 
to  obey  their  master's  voice. 

The  whip,  coiled  snake-like  about  the  Captain's  friendly  artics,  is 
an  entirely  superfluous  emblem  of  authority,  for  this  remarkable 
man  achieves  his  results  by  the  power  of  the  human  eye  alone.  In 
this  connection  it  should  be  noted  that  Triplett  is  limited  to  a  single 
optic.  The  one  on  the  right  as  one  faces  the  photograph  is  phony, 
the  original  having  literally  leaped  out  of  its  socket  many  years 
ago  during  an  exciting  kangaroo  hunt.  The  eye,  rolling  away  into 
the  bush,  was  never  recovered  in  spite  of  a  handsome  reward-notice 
in  the  Sydney,  Melbourne  and  Adelaide  press.  Thus  Triplett  lost 
not  only  the  sight  of  the  eye  but  the  eye  itself.  What  the  Captain 
achieves  with  his  single  orb  is  nothing  short  of  amazing  and  we  have 
frequently  seen  him  face-down  such  fearless  fellow-men  as  George 
Jean  Nathan  merely  by  turning  towards  them  his  blind  eye. 

Both  attitude  and  costume  are  superbly  characteristic,  the  massive 
oak- timbered  frame  filling  to  repletion  the  bearskin  jerkin  with  its 
practical  one-man-top.  As  a  protection  for  the  nether  limbs  Trip 
lett  invariably  wore  light  woolen  pajamas  with  gee-string  exits  and 
entrances.  This  scant  covering  was  ample  even  in  the  severest 
weather,  owing  to  the  fact  that  Triplett's  own  limbs  are  clothed 
with  a  heavy  coat  of  natural  fur  which,  in  his  own  words,  is  "grown 
on  the  place." 


Triplett  the  Undaunted 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        25 

he  said  with  his  shallow  smile.  "You  will  find  them 
admirably  equipped  in  their  respective  depart 
ments.  Good-bye." 

He  extended  a  limp  hand  which  I  hurt  as  much 
as  possible  by  using  a  peculiar  grip  taught  me  by  an 
old  swaboda  in  the  Malay  peninsula.  He  went 
deathly  white  and  faded  from  my  view.  I  fear  I  do 
not  always  realize  my  strength. 

Banderholtz  is  one  of  the  type  of  arm-chair  ex 
plorers  which  I  particularly  detest.  Everything  he 
does  is  superficial.  In  the  early  days  when  airplanes 
were  safer  than  they  are  now  because  they  would 
not  rise  more  than  six  feet  from  the  ground,  he 
gained  a  great  reputation  as  a  birdman  on  the 
strength  of  once  having  been  up  in  a  captive-bal 
loon  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

But  this  is  no  place  for  personal  animosities.  I 
caught  the  midnight  train  to  New  York,  rang  for 
the  Porter  and  insisted  that  my  section  be  un-made 
and  a  table  furnished.  Now  that  the  matter  was 
settled  I  was  burning  with  a  desire  to  work  out  the 
details.  All  night  I  toiled  away,  the  click  of  my 
typewriter  being  the  only  sound  except  an  occa 
sional  curse  from  the  occupants  of  nearby  berths. 
An  old  gentleman  in  upper-seven  disturbed  me 
somewhat  with  his  snoring  but  gradually  the  sound 


26        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

blended  itself  with  the  snorts  of  the  sea-lions  which 
I  was  already  hearing  in  imagination  and  I  became 
oblivious  to  all  interruption.  When  the  train  pulled 
into  Grand  Central  my  preliminary  work  was  com 
plete.  My  various  lists,  personnel,  food,  equip 
ment,  scientific  objects,  etc.  had  all  been  sketched 
out.  The  remaining  weeks  of  April  were  devoted 
to  the  detail  of  complete  organization,  all  of  which 
I  attended  to  personally. 

Since  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  E.U.  list  of 
names,  I  may  as  well  dispose  of  the  subject  at  this 
time.  Quite  naturally  it  was  composed,  in  the  main, 
of  scientific  men,  men  famed  each  in  his  particular 
field.  I  knew  them  by  their  works,  and  a  casual 
glance  at  the  list  convinced  me  that  our  expedition 
would  compare  with  the  best  in  its  scientific  depart 
ments. 

The  first  name  was  that  of  Warburton  Plock, 
whose  reputation  in  anthropology,  zoology  and 
biology  fitted  him  to  size  up  and  classify  any  living 
thing.  Flock's  work  on  simians  and  femurae  is  the 
accepted  monkey-manual  in  most  menageries.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  impression  it  made  upon  me 
the  first  time  I  read  it. 

The  important  studies  of  cartography,  ocean 
ography,  topography  and  kindred  subjects  were 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        27 

allotted  to  Elmer  E.  Miskin,  of  the  E.U.  library 
forces.  Miskin  was  what  one  might  call  a  self-made 
explorer.  He  had  worked  his  way  up  from  the 
bottom  of  the  paper  basket,  through  a  long  course 
in  filing  and  cataloguing.  While  a  boy  in  the  grade 
schools  of  his  native  town  of  Peapack,  N.  J.  he  had 
shown  early  promise  by  winning  five  consecutive 
gold  stars  in  map-drawing  and  one  of  his  prize- 
winning  creations  with  the  Orange  Mountains  rep 
resented  by  caterpillars  glued  on  the  cardboard  now 
hangs  behind  the  door  of  the  Principal's  office  of 
the  Hooker  Avenue  School.  This  was  his  first  ex 
perience  in  the  field. 

Three  other  names  complete  the  E.U.  list,  Croy- 
den  Sloff,  magnetician,  electrician  and  victrologist, 
Winchester  Wigmore,  snow-  and  ice-expert  and 
Bartholomew  Dane,  egyptologist. 

It  was  with  surprise  that  I  saw  the  name  of  War- 
burton  Plock.  We  had  met  frequently  in  the  old 
days  when  we  used  to  gather  round  the  keg  at  the  E. 
U.  meetings  and  our  feelings  had  always  been  anti 
pathetic.  But  I  resolved  that  no  fancied  grudges 
should  cloud  the  sky  of  our  venture  and  immedi 
ately  wired  Plock  a  cordial  telegram  saying,  "Am 
counting  on  your  loyal  support  and  hope  I  shall 
get  it." 


28        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  my  own  selec 
tions  for  travelling  companions  included  my  old 
friends  Herman  Swank,  the  artist,  and  Reg  Whin- 
ney,  scientist,  whose  loyalty  and  devotion  during 
my  South  Sea  travels  have  forged  links  of  friend 
ship  which  can  never  be  broken.  Swank's  enthusi 
asm  at  the  prospect  of  actually  painting  the  aurora 
borealis  from  life  was  unbounded.  He  at  once 
thought  of  his  colleagues  in  the  colorful  modern 
school.  "I'll  have  them  skinned  a  mile,"  he  cried. 

Other  men  may  possibly  excel  in  special  lines,  but 
I  am  confident  that  as  an  all-round  scientist,  Whin- 
ney  can  give  them  all  cards  and  spades.  His  fund 
of  general  information  saved  me  thousands  of  dol 
lars  for  he  combined  several  people  in  one.  For 
instance  he  knew  quite  enough  about  medicine  to  be 
our  official  doctor.  As  soon  as  he  received  the  polar 
invitation  he  set  about  studying  polar  diseases,  snow 
blindness,  scurvy,  chill-blains,  frost-bite  and  so  on. 
He  was  an  expert  photographer  and  got  results 
from  a  3%  x  4^  Kodak  that  surprised  everybody 
including  himself.  He  had  also  become  keenly  in 
terested  in  radiography  and  brought  a  complete 
outfit  aboard  with  him,  using  his  own  body  as  a 
spool  upon  which  to  coil  his  antennae  until  they 
could  be  rigged  in  a  proper  manner.  Most 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        29 

men  have  two  sides,  but  Whinney  had  at  least  a 
dozen.  He  combined  many  men  in  one.  Way 
back  in  our  college  days  I  recall  that  he  was  taken 
on  the  Christmas  trip  of  the  Glee  Club  because 
he  could  play  the  banjo  and  he  made  the  banjo- 
club  because  he  could  sing.  He  wasn't  good  at 
either  but  he  averaged  well. 

In  addition  to  Swank  and  Whinney,  I  made 
another  selection  based  on  painstaking  thought.  I 
asked  my  life-long  friend,  Sydney  Freemantle 
Frissell,  to  go  along  as  recreationist  and  entertainer. 
Northern  expeditions,  especially  through  the  long 
hours  of  the  Arctic  night  are  very  dull  affairs. 
Along  about  midnight,  with  morning  three  months 
away,  the  party  is  apt  to  die.  Then  is  when  a  man 
like  Frissell  is  invaluable.  He  has  no  brains  what 
ever,  but  the  most  amazing  vitality  and  can  wrake  up 
any  assembly  by  sheer  audacity.  I  deliberated  a 
long  time  as  to  whether  to  get  Ed  Wynn  or  Frissell, 
but  finally  decided  in  favor  of  Frizzy  as  he  could 
come  and  Wynn  couldn't. 

Needless  to  say,  our  Captain  was  the  same 
staunch  old  oak-framed  navigator,  Ezra  Triplett, 
who  had  gotten  the  Kawa  into  so  many  tight  holes 
in  the  past. 

"What  ship?"  he  asked  when  I  put  it  up  to  him. 


30        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

"Kawa,"  I  said. 

"Done,  by  thunder,"  he  roared. 

Honest  Ezra  Triplett!  Loyal,  staunch  friend, 
quaint,  saturnine,  creature  that  he  is. 

"Doc,"  he  said,  "I'd  like  darn  well  to  take  one  of 
my  wives  along.  It's  gonter  be  kinder  lonely  up 
there  in  the  ice  with  all  you  boys  off  gunnin'." 

I  smiled  indulgently  at  the  old  man's  foibles. 

"Which  one  do  you  want  to  take?" 

"The  gal  from  Sausalito,"  he  explained.  "I 
ain't  seen  her  in  about  a  year,  an'  I'm  gettin'  kinder 
fed-up  on  ...  you  know  .  .  .  Noo  York." 

I  nodded.  "We'll  have  to  keep  it  secret.  You 
know  I've  absolutely  forbidden  it.  She  can  join  us 
at  St.  Johns  and  come  aboard  as  ward-robe  woman. 
No  one  must  suspect  that  she  is  your  wife." 

Triplett  shifted  his  quid  and  slowly  winked  his 
false  eye. 

"She  ain't,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 

Our  triumphant  departure.  A  man  missing.  Wig- 
more's  gallant  embarkation.  The  Kawa  her 
self.  A  new  idea  in  construction.  A  few 
boresome  details. 


si 


CHAPTER  II 

From  her  berth  in  the  Harlem,  the  Kawa 
steamed,  or  to  be  more  exact,  gasolined,  to  the  land 
ing  stage  of  the  N.Y.Y.C.  station  at  the  foot  of 
East  Twenty-second  St.  Our  progress  had  been 
one  of  triumph.  Every  passing  ship  had  hailed  us 
by  bell,  whistle  or  horn,  to  which  was  added  the 
hoarse  blare  of  sirens  from  the  converted  breweries 
which  line  the  banks.  Gay  stevedores  threw  their 
caps  in  the  air  and  tossed  lumps  of  coal  in  our  direc 
tion,  surely  a  magnificent  tribute  with  coal  at  its 
present  price.  Street  urchins  shouted  unintel 
ligible  remarks  and  all  manner  of  citizens  joined  in 
the  usual  riparian  rites.  Passing  under  the  stern 
of  a  United  Fruit  Company  steamer,  the  cook 
waved  a  farewell  from  his  galley  and  dumped  a 
bucket  of  potato  peelings  in  our  path. 

Off  Blackwell's  Island  the  scene  was  particularly 
affecting,  the  inmates  giving  me  an  appreciative 
greeting,  the  trusties  rushing  to  the  sea  wall  and 

3  33 


UN  DEJEUNER  A  LA  BOUGIE 

The  candle  which  Dr.  Traprock  presented  to  the  beautiful  Ikik  as 
a  love-token  was  generously  shared  by  her  with  her  co-wives.  Its 
appeal,  curiously,  was  entirely  gustatory,  the  flavor  of  refined  wax 
being  a  revelation  to  the  native  taste  after  their  customary  fare  of 
seal-fat  and  fish-oil. 

Here  we  see  the  charming  Yalok  nibbling  her  share  of  the  prized 
dainty.  The  candle  shown  is  one  of  six,  specially  cast  for  Dr.  Trap- 
rock  by  the  Candlemas  Club  of  Pittsburgh.  Each  one  was  designed 
to  last  a  month  and  thus  bring  light  into  the  Arctic  night.  The 
donors  doubtless  will  be  surprised  and  pleased  at  the  knowledge  that 
the  heroic-size  of  their  gift  met  with  great  appreciation  though  not, 
perhaps,  in  the  way  intended. 

"Evening  after  evening,"  says  Dr.  Traprock  in  a  private  letter  to 
the  editor,  "the  maidens  sate  about  our  Primus,  passing  the  candle 
from  hand  to  hand  much  as  we  pass  a  loving-cup,  though  with  less 
reluctance.  Each  would  nibble  perhaps  an  inch  from  the  coveted 
cylinder  and  then  hand  it  to  her  neighbor,  crying,  'Lapatok's  turn!' 
or  'Klipitok's  turn!'  with  the  heartiest  good-will  imaginable." 

The  eminent  explorer  adds  in  a  later  paragraph,  "Yalok  seemed 
the  most  greedily  fond  of  the  great  taper  and  on  one  occasion  nar 
rowly  escaped  death  from  choking  on  the  wick  which  became  wound 
about  her  palate.  Seeing  her  inordinate  appetite  for  the  strange 
food,  Ikik  gallantly  ceded  her  share,  but  I  solaced  the  latter  by 
secretly  giving  her  the  beeswax  tomato  from  my  mending  kit  upon 
which  she  feasted  in  private  with  vast  delight!" 

It  is  hard  to  imagine  a  more  touching  human  sidelight  than  the 
above  intimate  incident.  The  Editor  has  forwarded  a  copy  of  Dr. 
Traprock's  letter  to  the  Candlemas  Club  where  it  is  suitably  framed 
and  hung  in  the  swimming-pool. 


Un  Dejeuner  a  la  Bougie 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        37 

gazing  longingly  in  my  direction  while  those  in 
durance  vile  plucked  off  their  shoes  and  beat  upon 
the  cell  bars  to  attract  my  attention.  With  my 
glasses,  I  thought  I  recognized  one  or  two  familiar 
faces  but  I  can  not  be  sure.  At  any  rate  I  feel  cer 
tain  that  their  hearts  went  out  to  me  even  as  mine 
went  in  to  them,  and  I  could  but  paraphrase  the 
remark  of  Dean  Bullock,  "There,  but  for  the  Grace 
of  God,  is  the  whole  Traprock  Expedition." 

The  reception  at  the  Yacht  Club  station  was  a 
gay  affair.  It  was  positively  my  first  appearance 
upon  any  landing-stage.  The  efficient  steward  had 
arranged  an  authoritative  punch  and  many  a  hearty 
toast  was  pledged  and  responded  to  with  feeling. 
But  we  were  soon  on  our  way  again.  My  final 
orders  sealed  with  the  official-seal  of  the  Explorers 
Union,  were  placed  in  my  hands  by  the  venerable 
President,  Waxman,  who  was  greatly  affected  at 
parting.  He  had  been  eating  peanuts  of  which  he 
was  passionately  fond,  and  I  recall  that  he  thrust  a 
few  of  them  into  my  hands  after  saying,  "Traprock, 
we  expect  a  great  deal  .  .  ."he  choked,  and  was 
unable  to  complete  his  sentence. 

At  exactly  two  o'clock,  on  the  flood  tide,  we 
backed  out  of  the  pier  and  under  Triplett's  guid 
ance  worked  our  way  sideways  to  mid-channel.  The 


38       MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

steward  at  the  Yacht  Club  dipped  his  colors  and 
fired  a  commodore's  salute  with  his  brass  half- 
pounder  to  which  I  replied  in  proper  fashion,  lining 
up  the  entire  expedition  at  the  rail,  eyes-right,  while 
Triplett  blew  our  Klaxon  and  shook  a  chain  of 
sleigh  bells  which  Frissell  had  brought  along  "be 
cause  they  seemed  so  northern." 

It  was  during  this  lining-up  process  that  I  dis 
covered  that  one  man  was  missing.  It  was  Wig- 
more,  the  snow  and  ice  expert,  who  had  failed  to 
put  in  an  appearance  and  I  was  greatly  depressed 
by  the  fact  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  an  evil  omen, 
Moreover  he  was  an  extremely  valuable  man  with 
vast  experience  in  alpine  work  as  well  as  in  the 
practical  phases  of  glaciology  with  which  he  came 
in  contact  in  his  work  as  general-manager  of  the 
Higley  Ice  Cream  Cone  Co.  But  marine  law  is 
rigid.  We  were  due  to  sail  at  two  sharp,  Wigmore 
or  no  Wigmore,  and  we  sped  off  without  him. 

But  my  disappointment  was  to  be  almost  im 
mediately  assuaged.  When  we  were  about  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  above  the  Canal  Street  bridge,  the 
last  of  the  great  arches  which  spans  the  river, 
Swank  rushed  up  to  me  and  cried,  "Look,  look. 
There  he  is 1" 

I  followed  the  direction  of  his  pointing  finger. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        39 

Sure  enough,  there  was  Wigmore,  a  tiny  speck, 
running  along  the  center  span  of  the  bridge.  He 
was  in  full  Alpine  costume  with  rope,  ax,  pick 
and  felt  hat,  and  I  saw  to  my  amazement  that  he 
was  going  to  board  us.  With  the  nimbleness  of  a 
chamois  he  scrambled  over  the  railing,  instantly 
beginning  a  spider-like  descent  of  his  rope  which 
he  had  hooked  above.  Silhouetted  against  the  sky 
I  could  see  the  curved  feather  in  his  cap,  a  minute 
question  mark.  The  question  in  my  mind  was  one 
of  hair-raising  anxiety.  Would  he  make  it,  or  not? 
Upon  the  answer  seemed  to  depend  the  whole  suc 
cess  or  failure  of  our  venture.  His  descent  was 
timed  to  a  nicety.  Just  as  the  Kawa  plowed  be 
neath  him  he  gave  a  shake  of  his  body,  loosening 
the  fastening,  and  dropped  lightly  to  the  deck  amid 
our  resounding  cheers.  Was  it  only  in  imagina 
tion  that  I  saw  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  wave  her 
gigantic,  torch-bearing  arm,  as  if  she  too  felt  the 
thrill  of  a  brave  deed,  nobly  done? 

"Bravo,  Wigmore,"  I  cried.  "  But  what  detained 
you?" 

"My  equipment,  sir,"  he  said,  coming  to  atten 
tion.  "They  wouldn't  let  me  into  my  apartment. 
The  clerk  thought  I  was  a  line-man  for  the  Edison 
Company." 


40        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

We  all  laughed  heartily  at  the  incident  and 
settled  down  to  routine-life  on  ship-board.  Our  last 
farewell  from  the  great  port  of  the  Metropolis  was 
from  the  Detention  Ward  on  Ellis  Island.  The 
Pesthouse  band  was  out  in  full-force  and  blew 
germs  into  the  air  with  much  enthusiasm,  but  Trip- 
lett  had  laid  a  course  to  windward  so  that  we  felt 
no  apprehension. 

It  is  perhaps  not  amiss  at  this  point  to  say  some 
thing  regarding  the  highly  important  part  played 
in  our  expedition  by  the  Kawa  herself.  She  may 
be  said,  I  think,  to  be  the  star  of  a  distinguished 
cast,  or  more  accurately,  that  she  divided  stellar 
honors  with  me.  For  one  of  the  conditions  which 
was  part  of  my  bargain  with  good  old  Waxman 
and  his  associates  was  that  I  should  actually  take 
my  ship  to  the  Pole! 

The  expression  on  the  faces  of  the  worthy  com 
mittee  of  the  E.U.  when  I  accepted  this  astounding 
condition  is  something  that  I  must  leave  to  the 
reader's  imagination. 

"Yes,  gentlemen,"  I  had  said  to  them.  "It  can 
be  done,  and  it  will  be  done.  Either  I  hitch  the 
Kawa  to  the  Pole  or  I  never  return!" 

My  announcement  was  greeted  with  cheers. 

Immediately  upon  my  return  from  Boston  I 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        41 

closeted  myself  with  Captain  Triplett  in  the  cozy 
nautical  room  of  the  Book-lovers  Library  and  we 
jointly  went  over  the  layout  of  the  Kawa  from 
stem  to  stern.  We  were  surrounded  by  files  of 
drawings  and  a  great  mass  of  data  upon  naval 
architecture  with  special  reference  to  Arctic  con 
ditions.  From  the  outset  I  was  imbued  with  a 
conviction  that  we  should  find  nothing  of  real  im 
portance  in  what  had  been  done  before.  A  careful 
study  of  my  predecessors  convinced  me  that  they 
had  uniformly  been  on  the  wrong  track.  What 
they  had  tried  to  do  was  to  fight  the  ice.  What  I 
proposed  was  to  humor  it. 

The  outstanding  feature  of  such  vessels  as  the 
Fram  and  the  Roosevelt  was  their  rigidity.  Their 
construction  followed  the  general  principle  of  the 
onion,  consisting  of  numerous  layers  of  heavy  oak 
sheathing  shored  up  from  the  inside  with  a  veritable 
cob-web  of  balks,  stanchions  and  braces.  In  addi 
tion  to  this,  the  sides  of  these  ships  were  shaped  so 
as  to  offer  as  small  a  vulnerable  target  as  possible. 
The  idea  was  that  the  stupendous  pinch  and 
pressure  of  the  ice-pack  failing  to  get  a  firm  hold 
of  the  vessel  should  project  her  up  from  and  out 
of  the  ice.  This  idea  is  graphically  illustrated  by 
an  ordinary,  household  orange  seed  pinched  sharply 


42        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

between  the  thumb  and  forefinger.  But  I  could 
not  help  smiling  at  the  naive  short-sightedness  of 
these  earlier  men,  for,  assuming  as  sometimes  hap 
pened,  that  the  constructive  features  functioned  as 
outlined,  what  then?  The  ship  was  merely  lifted 
up  until  she  canted  over  at  a  ridiculous  and  uncom 
fortable  angle  where  she  lay  on  the  ice,  a  helpless 
and  absurd  spectacle.  Further  motion  in  any  direc 
tion  was  plainly  impossible  except  at  the  whim  of 
the  floe  itself  which  often  evinces  a  contradictory 
tendency  to  move  southward  instead  of  northward 
as  per  schedule. 

While  not  wishing  to  discard  entirely  the  idea 
of  elusive  conformation  I  saw  at  once  that  radical 
innovations  would  be  necessary  in  order  to  accom 
plish  my  object.  In  a  word,  I  proposed  to  convert 
the  Kawa  into  a  non-rigid  type  of  vessel. 

"Triplett,"  I  said,  during  our  first  conference, 
"what  is  the  slipperiest  animal  you  know?" 

The  ancient  mariner  scratched  his  head  reflec 
tively  before  replying.  "Seals." 

"Right!"  I  cried.  "Go  to  the  seal,  thou  slug 
gard  !  Triplett,  it's  an  idea !  We'll  make  the  Kawa 
as  easy  to  handle  as  a  greased  hot  water  bottle." 

For  many  days  we  worked  over  the  plans  and 
eventually  began  actual  operations  on  the  Kawa 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        43 

herself,  hauling  her  out  for  the  purpose  at  Tut- 
bury's  shipyard.  She  was  completely  eviscerated. 
Her  oak  ribs  and  keel  were  removed  and  replaced 
by  Austrian  bent-wood,  of  the  finest  temper.  A 
thin  layer  of  yew-planking  was  laid  over  her  sides 
with  lapped,  sliding  joints,  filled  with  elastic  roof 
ing-cement.  Outside  of  this  came  a  second  layer 
of  slippery  elm  (%"  x  2^")  laid  diagonally  so  that 
the  joints  crossed  those  of  the  yew.  The  entire 
hull  was  then  covered  with  seal-skin,  fur  side  out. 
When  she  slid  from  the  ways  on  her  re-launching 
the  Kawa  took  the  water  as  noiselessly  as  a  musk- 
rat,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  we 
made  her  fast  as  she  slipped  from  the  ship-wright's 
grasp  at  the  slightest  pressure.* 

"Gosh-t-a  mighty,"  grinned  Triplett.  "She's  a 
seal!" 

You  may  be  sure  I  utilized  Whinney's  scientific 
ingenuity  and  it  is  to  him  I  owe  two  innovations 
which  contributed  greatly  to  our  success.  One  of 
these  was  the  magnetic  bowsprit,  highly  sensitized 
by  induction-coils  run  from  the  exhaust  of  our 
20  h.p,  Tutbury  engine;  the  other  was  the  thermal 

*  A  quarter-scale  model  of  the  re-modeled  Kawa  has  been  pre 
sented  to  the  Smithsonian  Institute  by  the  Jibboom  Club  of  New 
London,  Ct.  Needless  to  say  all  structural  and  mechanical  details 
are  thoroughly  protected. 


44        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

water-line,  the  temperature  of  which  could  be  raised 
to  180  degrees  by  turning  a  switch  which  connected 
with  our  storage  batteries.  Both  of  these  inven 
tions  worked  perfectly. 

Thanks  to  the  bowsprit  the  problem  of  steering 
our  svelte  craft,  about  which  Triplett  had  expressed 
some  doubts,  became  a  simple  matter.  Left  to 
herself  she  invariably  came  up  into  the  north  and 
as  that  was  the  direction  we  wished  to  go  all  was 
well.  The  thermal  water-line  made  passage  through 
all  but  the  thickest  ice  comfortable  and  easy.  For 
many  years  the  Kawa  had  had  no  water-line  what 
ever  so  that  we  were  uncertain  how  she  would  be 
have.  The  new  one  consisted  of  a  thin  layer  of 
copper  fastened  to  the  elm  siding,  underneath  the 
seal  skin.  I  like  to  think  that  the  little  Kawa  be 
haved  so  nobly  because  she  knew  her  water-line  was 
not  visible. 

Thus  we  arrived  at  a  type  of  construction  which 
gave  us  the  strength  and  elasticity  of  a  water-tight 
basket.  What  we  had  lost  in  rigidity  we  gained 
in  feather-like  lightness.  Before  her  engines  were 
installed  the  Kawa  floated  on  the  surface  like  a 
toy  balloon.  When  loaded,  as  she  usually  was, 
she  drew  two-feet-six.  The  installation  of  the 
engine  and  stowing  of  stores  also  had  a  tendency 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        45 

to  stabilize  the  hull  and  keep  her  masts  pointing 
upward  which  was  a  distinct  advantage. 

In  addition  to  these  marine  features  it  was  neces 
sary  to  consider  the  eventuality  of  encountering 
solid,  impenetrable  ice  in  the  region  of  the  pole, 
ice  through  which  even  the  thermal  water-line  would 
not  make  it  possible  for  us  to  melt  our  way. 
Authorities  agree  that  such  ice  may  be  expected 
north  of  eighty-six,  even  though  we  planned  to  time 
our  arrival  in  that  vicinity  for  mid-summer  when, 
as  is  well  known,  the  weather  is  extremely  hot.  This 
is  the  fascination  of  Arctic  travel;  one  never  knows 
what  to  expect.  Our  problem,  then,  was  to  make 
the  Kawa  equally  at  home  on  the  floe  or  in  the 
open  leads,  a  glorified  sea-sled.  My  previous  ex 
perience  with  the  various  types  of  sledges  con 
vinced  me  that  for  my  purpose  they  were  useless. 
My  object  was  to  take  the  Kawa  to  the  Pole.  Then 
why  not  make  the  Kawa  herself  a  sled? 

I  recognized  instantly  the  feasibility  of  my 
scheme,  which  consisted  of  folding  guide-runners 
framed  of  carefully  selected  greenheart.  When 
not  in  use  these  runners  extended  horizontally  along 
the  counter,  giving  my  little  craft  a  singularly  bird- 
like  appearance.  Incidentally  they  formed  con 
venient  luggage  carriers  similar  to  those  attached 


WHAT   THE    WELL-DRESSED    EXPLORER    WILL    WEAR 

Fine  feathers  do  not  make  fine  birds,  but  aigrettes  are  still  forty 
dollars  a  stalk.  Something  of  this  thought  evidently  dominated 
the  mind  of  Warburton  Plock  in  the  selection  of  his  wardrobe. 
Plock,  who  is  shown  against  a  typically  iglootinous  background,  was 
the  only  member  of  the  expedition  who  paid  no  heed  to  his  leader's 
advice  in  this  regard,  namely,  to  dress  off-the-Eskimos.  Instead  of 
so  doing  he  ordered  his  outfit  built  for  him  by  Buskwa,  the  leading 
tailor  of  Nome.  The  garments  were  taken  aboard  at  St.  John's  and 
formed  a  large  part  of  Plock's  luggage.  They  varied  in  design 
from  a  simple  going-away  suit  to  the  most  elaborate  mufti,  sports 
costume  and  evening  dress. 

In  the  attached  fashion-plate  the  fastidious  explorer  is  clad  in 
the  well-known  "Buskwa-model"  morning  suit,  which  is  made  from 
the  pelts  of  unborn  teddy  bears.  This,  according  to  the  wearer, 
is  the  super-correct  thing  for  the  Young-Man-About-the-Pole.  The 
accessory  cane  and  cigarette  are  personal  touches  calculated  to 
attract  the  attention  of  whomsoever  he  may  meet  north  of  Eighty-six. 
Vanity,  in  the  Great  White  Spaces  as  elsewhere,  precedes  a  fall, 
but  usually  only  by  a  step  or  so.  To  be  fair  to  the  house  of  Buskwa 
it  should  be  stated  that  Plock's  garments  were  invariably  tastefully 
designed  and  well-made.  No  detail  of  findings  or  linings  was 
slighted.  They  were,  however,  entirely  unsuited  to  the  rigors  of 
Polar  climate. 

The  Buskwa  trade  is  chiefly  derived  from  the  wealthier  Chicoutimi 
families  living  along  the  Mad  River  and  points  South.  To  single 
out  a  single  defect,  the  self-drawing  fish-pockets  are  doubtless  use 
ful  features  to  a  people  who  spend  many  hours  in  the  salmon  streams. 
In  the  icy  polar  region  the  cold  air  naturally  forced  its  way  through 
the  Bartorial  scuppers  with  the  result  that  the  wearer  was  soon 
forced  to  don  another  suit  to  avoid  freezing.  At  the  time  of  his 
attempted  escape  Plock  was  wearing  his  entire  wardrobe,  seven 
suits  in  all,  which  were  recovered  with  the  body  of  the  fugitive. 
The  clothes  were  later  eaten  by  members  of  the  return-party,  who 
more  than  once  had  occasion  to  pay  tribute  to  the  tailor  who  had 
selected  such  delicious  materials. 


What  the  Well-dressed  Explorer  Will  Wear 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        49 

to  the  running  boards  of  automobiles  and,  in  fair 
weather,  could  be  used  as  piazzas  or  sleeping 
porches  covered  with  a  high  pile  of  bear-skins  to 
make  occupancy  easy. 

Thus  you  have  a  fairly  complete  idea  of  my 
metamorphosed  vessel,  adapted  to  meet  any  and 
all  conditions. 

But  one  word  more,  as  to  stores  and  equipment, 
and  I  will  promise  not  to  bore  my  readers  further 
with  these  deadly  technical  details,  which  I  fully 
realize  have  prevented  the  success  of  many  a  tale 
of  Arctic  adventure.  In  making  up  my  lists  I  was 
guided  by  a  principle  which  I  have  followed  all  my 
life,  namely,  that  of  taking  with  me  only  those 
things  for  which  a  proper  substitute  could  not  be 
found  in  the  high  latitudes.  This  simple  thought 
I  always  practise  in  a  restaurant,  for  instance, 
where  I  never  by  any  chance  order  anything  which 
might  be  served  in  my  home.  Just  prior  to  leaving 
New  York  I  heard  a  gentleman  ask  for  corned- 
beef  hash  in  the  Ritz!  I  could  but  pity  him.  Yet 
it  is  this  apparently  trivial  tendency  which  has  sent 
many  an  expedition  off  to  the  Arctic  circle  burdened 
with  voluminous  packs  of  furs  and  crushing  weights 
of  supplies,  all  of  which  could  be  most  easily  secured 
from  the  Eskimos  themselves  who,  with  the  possible 


50        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

exception  of  the  Cambodians,  are  the  most  friendly 
people  I  have  ever  encountered.* 

Our  clothing  then  was  of  the  lightest.  We  started 
our  journey  dressed  in  plain  business  suits  such  as 
are  worn  by  guides  in  the  Canadian  wilderness,  but 
stowed  in  our  duffle-bags  were  ample  quantities 
of  light  underwear,  both  union  and  non-union, 
while  included  in  my  personal  kit  were  three  pairs 
of  medium-weight,  woolen  longs  with  reinforced  or 
sliding  seats  to  make  progress  over  the  ice  more 
easy.  For  outer  wear  during  the  warm  season  we 
carried  the  conventional  tennis  flannels  and  Palm- 
Beach  suits  and  I  am  thankful  to  Swank  for  the 
suggestion  that  we  include  the  tropical  helmets 
which  had  shielded  us  so  faithfully  in  the  Filberts. 
They  proved  of  inestimable  value. 

Most  travellers  into  the  land  of  refrigeration 
insist  upon  taking  in  with  them  bales  of  hay  with 
which  to  pack  their  boots  and  thus  absorb  the 
moisture  which  would  otherwise  result  in  aggra 
vated  cases  of  cold  feet.  For  this  particular  prod 
uct  I  substituted  a  type  of  breakfast  food  of  my 
own  invention  called  "wheat  whiskers"  which  comes 


*As  guest  of  King  Sisawath  II  in  1908,  I  was  presented  with  the 
Bkatha  or  Freedom  of  the  Palace,  which  was  more  than  I  could 
possibly  use. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        51 

in  compacted  cubes  of  farinaceous  filament.  These, 
when  needed,  can  be  teased  out  to  four  times  their 
initial  bulk.  The  advantages  of  this  product  are 
evident,  since  it  is  both  excellent  boot-packing  and 
nourishing  food,  or,  as  Frizzie  put  it  "good  for 
both  hoof  and  mouth  disease."  Another  dual  per 
sonality  in  our  list  of  stores  was  the  solid  alcohol, 
primarily  intended  for  fuel,  but  also  edible.  This 
necessity  was  under  my  immediate  jurisdiction  as 
the  responsible  head  of  the  party. 

Too  much  credit  can  never  be  given  to  those 
great  American  institutions,  the  5-and-10-cent 
stores,  from  which  we  were  able  to  obtain  at  slight 
cost  the  necessary  snow-goggles,  ice-picks,  cooking 
utensils,  etc.,  which  form  a  part  of  every  expedi 
tion.  From  the  same  source  we  also  purchased  a 
sizable  number  of  toys  for  use  in  bartering  with 
the  natives.  All  these  lighter  elements  of  our  bag 
gage  were  rolled  in  bolts  of  mosquito  netting  in 
the  folds  of  which  were  packed  fly-swatters  (two 
per  man),  bottles  of  citronella,  green  fishing-veils, 
and  other  objects  useful  in  combating  the  teeming 
insect  life  which  springs  into  being  at  the  first 
touch  of  the  Arctic  sun. 

These,  then,  were  our  general  stores.  Each  indi 
vidual  looked  after  the  equipment  necessary  for  his 


52        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

own  department.  Sections  of  the  Kawa,  amid- 
ship,  were  allotted  in  alphabetical  order,  where, 
with  a  narrow  aisle  between,  were  tightly  crammed 
Flock's  anthropological  charts,  Miskin's  map-card 
boards,  surveying  instruments  and  colored  crayons, 
Sloff's  batteries,  Wigmore's  alpine  ice  instruments 
(including  a  horn),  Dane's  mummy-cases  and 
scarabs,  Whinney's  camera  supplies  and  radio-out 
fit,  and  Swank's  paints  and  palettes.  Frissell's 
personal  impedimenta  was  unique  and  had  no  bear 
ing  whatever  upon  scientific  research.  It  consisted 
of  eighteen  different  fancy-dress  costumes,  wrapped 
up  in  which  were  a  ukelele  and  six  pogo  sticks. 
At  later  intervals  he  kept  producing  smaller  musi 
cal  instruments,  magic  egg-cups  and  other  enter 
taining  devices  which  more  than  once  rescued  our 
spirits  from  the  depths  of  black  despair.  Triplett 
carried,  as  usual,  only  his  pouch  of  extra  glass 
eyes  and  a  small,  well-worn,  black  bag  which,  to 
my  certain  knowledge,  he  never  opened.  I  think 
he  felt  that  it  gave  him  dignity  and  was  demanded 
of  him,  just  as  baggage  is  considered  necessary  by 
some  punctilious  hotel  clerks.  Whenever  we  left 
ship  for  more  than  a  day,  Triplett  insisted  on  carry 
ing  his  black  bag.  He  looked  as  if  he  were  about 
either  to  embalm  a  body  or  tune  a  piano.  I  could 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        53 

never  quite  decide  which.  One  day  when  he  was 
ill,  during  the  latter  part  of  our  trip,  I  peeked  in 
the  bag.  It  contained  the  upper  half  of  a  pair  of 
pajamas  and  the  photograph  of  a  beautiful, — but 
I  feel  that  respect  for  the  old  fellow's  romantic 
heart,  hidden  deep  beneath  his  tough  hide,  forbids 
me  to  say  more.  Somehow  that  little  black  bag 
became  to  me  a  symbol  of  its  owner,  concealing 
beneath  its  alligator-skin  rind  the  elements  of  some 
exquisite  life-incident! 


CHAPTER  III 

The  choice  of  a  route.  Off  at  last.  We  take  aboard 
a  passenger.  Seeds  of  discontent.  Into  the 
long  twilight.  Radio  reversals.  The  ice  at  last. 
Trouble  with  our  water-line.  Its  happy  solution. 


CHAPTER  III 

Those  of  my  readers  who  have  not  deserted 
during  the  cataloguing  of  our  supplies  may  be  inter 
ested  in  knowing  something  of  our  route.  The 
lines  of  approach  to  the  Pole  are,  of  course,  infinite 
in  number.  Let  me  illustrate  this  fact  in  a  simple 
way. 

A  direct  projection  of  the  northern  hemisphere 
would  resemble  a  pie  with  the  Equator  at  its  rim 
and  the  Pole  at  its  center.  Now  imagine  our  pie 
cut  into  four  quarters.  We  have,  obviously,  four 
ways  to  the  Pole.  But  now  suppose  the  arrival  of 
unexpected  company,  four  in  number ;  a  less  gener 
ous  distribution  of  our  pie  becomes  necessary.  The 
scientific  housewife  would  at  once  solve  the  diffi 
culty  by  cutting  the  pie  on  intervening  lines. 
We  now  have  eight  pieces  to  our  pie  and,  conse 
quently,  eight  ways  to  our  pole.  If  we  have  eight 

57 


THE  BIG  HUNTING 

As  soon  as  the  early  August  frosts  warn  the  Eskimo  huntsman 
that  winter  is  nigh,  he  begins  to  think  about  his  food-supply.  In 
fact  this  is  a  thing  he  thinks  about  most  of  the  time.  Food  is  the 
paramount  consideration  in  polar-regions.  It  is  the  standard  of 
value,  the  source  of  warmth,  the  unit  of  measure  it  is  everything. 

There  are  in  reality  but  two  seasons,  Winter  and  Summer,  in  the 
regions  immediately  surrounding  the  Pole.  Hunting  is  impossible 
in  the  one  because  of  the  intense  cold.  But  between  the  two  periods 
come  a  few  days,  a  week  at  most,  of  intermediate  temperature,  too 
short  to  be  called  Spring  or  Autumn,  but  too  valuable  to  be  lost. 
It  is  during  these  short  spells  that  the  native  must  lay  in  his  winter 
or  summer  supply  of  meat,  skins,  etc.  Consequently  he  is  always  in 
a  hurry. 

The  photograph  shows  Makuik  at  his  favorite  sport  of  seal- 
slaughtering.  Dr.  Traprock  tells  us  that  owing  to  the  amazing 
abundance  of  game  in  these  remote  regions  it  was  possible  for  the 
mighty  hunter  to  pursue  his  prey  for  four  days  without  stopping 
for  rest  or  food  save  for  an  occasional  hunk  of  flesh  or  fat  torn 
from  one  of  his  victims  en  passant. 

"Makuik's  elation,"  says  the  intrepid  author,  "became  almost  un 
pleasant.  As  the  herds  of  seal,  walrus  and  otary  accumulated  about 
him  their  blood  seemed  to  go  to  his  head.  Uttering  a  low  crooning 
cry  which  rose  to  a  wild  screech  at  every  thrust  of  his  raktok 
(trident)  he  leaped  about  the  floe  with  the  soft  agility  of  a  Mord- 
kin.  An  extraordinary  sight  was  to  see  him  hurl  his  weapon  into 
a  passing  flock  of  pemmican,  spearing  a  fine  bird  on  each  of  its 
prongs.  But  his  favorite  game  was  seals  because  of  their  compara 
tive  inability  to  escape  and  their  rich  food-value.  Incidentally  the 
skins  would  make  excellent  gifts  for  his  wives  during  the  approach 
ing  Yule-tide  season  (Kryptok-Boknik-lok  or  Feast  of  Food). 
Makuik  evidently  believed  in  "doing  his  Christmas  stabbing  early." 

At  the  close  of  the  "big  hunting,"  Makuik  had  to  his  credit,  besides 
countless  other  game,  four  hundred  and  seventy  seals.  The  photo 
graph  pictures  him  making  three  holes  in  one,  a  feat  which  no 
golf-player  can  ever  hope  to  rival. 


a 
s 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE       61 

we  may  have  sixteen,  if  sixteen,  thirty-two,  and  so 
on,  by  subdivision,  to  infinity.  Q.E.D.* 

The  question  immediately  arose  as  to  which  route 
I  should  select.  I  decided  on  the  straightest,  just 
as  I  had  decided,  in  Cambridge,  to  take  the  Kawa 
to  the  North  Pole  instead  of  the  South  because  it 
was  nearer.  Obviously  I  must  reach  the  polar  ice 
pack  before  making  my  beeline  as  my  ship  was 
adapted  for  but  two  elements,  ice  and  water. 
Travel  over  bare  ground  was  not  contemplated. 
Wheels  had  never  entered  my  head.  How  nearly 
this  fact  cost  us  our  lives  makes  a  thrilling  story 
but  one  which  comes  later. 

Thus,  our  object  was  to  round  Cape  Race  and 
pick  our  way  through  Davis  Strait  which  runs  due 
north  through  Baffin  Bay,  well  beyond  the  Arctic 
Circle.  This  is  the  most  direct  water  route  from 
New  York. 

Our  last  glimpse  of  the  homeland  was  the  white 
water  over  Sow-and-Pigs  Ledge  off  Cuttyhunk, 
from  which  we  set  a  course  North  by  slightly  East 
to  pick  up  the  gas-beacon  at  mouth  of  St.  John's 

*  Ekstrom  illustrates  the  same  point  in  his  lectures  by  using  a 
cake  (usually  chocolate)  in  place  of  a  pie.  The  objection  to  this 
method  is  that  the  segmental  walls  have  a  tendency  to  crumble, 
confusing  the  illusion  of  polar  travel.  Otherwise  his  system  follows 
mine.  W.  E.  T. 


62        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

Harbor.  As  we  swashed  along  outside  of  Cutty- 
hunk  I  saw  through  my  glasses  a  signal  flag  waved 
from  the  piazza  of  the  old  fishing  club  which  I 
recalled  having  visited  as  a  small  boy  in  '88  when 
the  last  sea-bass  was  hauled  from  those  waters.  A 
moment  later  a  small  boat  put  off  from  the  beach 
near  the  lighthouse  and  rowed  in  our  direction.  It 
was  a  hard  pull  for  the  sturdy  islanders  but  we 
stood  by  and  finally  took  their  helmsman  aboard 
who  handed  me  a  letter  marked  "Rush"  which 
proved  to  be  a  notice  from  the  Westchester  Light 
ing  Company  informing  me  that  there  was  still  a 
payment  due  on  my  gas  range.  As  I  had  opened 
this  missive  in  the  privacy  of  my  cabin  I  was  able 
to  go  on  deck  and  tell  the  messenger,  rather  curtly, 
that  there  was  "no  answer"  and  the  good  fellows 
rowed  away,  giving  us  a  hearty  cheer  as  we  turned 
our  nose  to  the  open  sea. 

St.  John's  was  our  first  port-of-call  for  I  had  to 
redeem  my  promise  to  Triplett  to  pick  up  the 
woman,  "Sausalito,"  as  he  called  her.  I  think  the 
old  man  was  inspired  by  the  thought  of  seeing 
her,  for  he  gave  us  an  exhibition  of  navigation  that 
was  an  eye-opener.  After  leaving  Cuttyhunk  we 
ran  into  a  dense  fog.  For  forty-eight  hours  this 
continued,  thick  and  impenetrable.  Once  we  heard 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        63 

the  distant  sound  of  the  cod-fishers  on  the  Banks 
singing  their  morning  song  —  an  unspeakable 
chantey  about  a  dissolute  person  named  Mary 
Brown — but  we  saw  no  gleam  of  binnacle,  sun 
or  shorelight.  Yet  through  this  murk,  with  the 
magnetic  pull  on  our  bowsprit  tending  always  to 
veer  us  from  our  course,  Triplett  led  us  with  such 
accuracy  that  at  exactly  the  appointed  time  we 
caught  the  distant  flash  of  the  beacon  and  knew 
that  our  first  leg  had  been  completed. 

My  followers  knew  nothing  of  my  plan  to  take 
Sausalito  aboard  and  my  instructions  to  Triplett 
were  to  keep  silent.  The  lady's  first  appearance 
was  not  reassuring.  She  was  standing  on  a  dilapi 
dated  pier  head,  valiantly  defending  herself  from 
volleys  of  stones  hurled  by  native  village  lads. 
Crouching  behind  a  rusty  try-out  kettle  she 
responded  in  kind,  directing  her  missiles  with 
vicious  speed  and  accuracy.  A  curious  morning 
picture. 

"That's  her,"  chuckled  Triplett.  "She  aUus  were 
a  speritted  female." 

The  others  looked  on  wonderingly  as  the  Cap 
tain  dropped  over  the  stern  into  our  cockle-boat, 
pulled  toward  the  dock  and  took  the  bulky  figure 
aboard. 


64        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

"Who  the  devil  is  this?"  asked  Plock,  scowling 
darkly,  as  they  neared  our  counter. 

"My  sewing  woman,"  I  said  briefly.  "Lend  a 
hand,  man." 

He  did  so  with  an  ill  grace,  and  a  moment  later 
I  saw  him  whispering  to  Wigmore  and  Sloff  with 
every  evidence  of  displeasure.  I  myself  was  not  a 
little  upset  at  the  over-exuberance  of  Triplett's 
manner  toward  this  strange  woman.  She  was  a 
dark,  unkempt  creature  with  bright  gray -blue  eyes 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  her  brown  cheeks. 
Her  hair,  what  we  could  see  of  it,  under  her  man's 
cap,  was  nondescript;  teeth  irregular.  Two  extra 
ordinary  qualities,  however,  she  had — a  smile  which 
vivified  her  oddness  with  an  unearthly  beauty,  a 
brilliant,  mocking  irradiation  that  made  her  look 
magically  youthful,  a  crone  metamorphosed  into  a 
little  girl,  and  a  voice — O,  a  mystery  of  still  waters ! 
— such  a  voice! — a  deep  resonant  contralto,  at 
once  caressing  and  vibrant,  with  strange  breaks  and 
husky  notes,  melting  softnesses  and  brazen  clangor! 
The  Captain  was  delighted  with  the  reunion. 

"My  leetle  apple!"  he  cried,  patting  her,  and, 
indeed,  the  term  was  not  inexact  as  her  dusky 
cheeks  flashed  with  pleasure  'neath  his  great 
paws. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        65 

"How  you've  grown,  Ezra!"  she  laughed,  point 
ing  to  his  capacious  girth. 

"Ain't  I,  though,"  he  assented;  "mostly  'round 
the  water-line!" 

I  felt  that  it  was  time  I  intervened. 

"Gentlemen,"  I  said  to  the  group  which  had 
gathered  in  the  waist,  "this  is  Mrs.  Sausalito,  our 
sewing  woman.  ..." 

Then  Triplett  fairly  spiked  my  guns  by  add 
ing,— 

"And  my  wife!" 

I  could  have  killed  the  old  fool!  I  hustled  them 
both  below  and  turned  back  to  face  an  indignant 
ship's  company. 

Plock  bustled  up  officiously.  "See  here,  Trap- 
rock,"  he  blustered,  "we  don't  like  this.  You 
know.  .  .  ." 

"STOP!"  I  commanded  in  a  voice  that  shook 
the  Kawa  to  the  place  where  her  keel  would  have 
been  had  she  had  one.  "To  begin  with,  I  want  you, 
Plock,  to  know  that  I  am  not  'Traprock'  to  you 
or  to  any  one  else.  I  am  'Doctor  Traprock,  Sir' 
— do  you  understand?" 

Plock  growled  an  uneasy  assent  as  I  continued. 

"I  know  perfectly  well  what  is  in  your  minds, 
namely,  that  the  understanding  was  that  there 


66        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

should  be  no  wives  on  this  voyage.  This  Sausalito 
woman  was  engaged  by  me  as  seamstress.  If  she 
is  Triplett's  wife,  as  he  says,  it  is  news  to  me.  In 
any  case  I  want  it  thoroughly  understood  that  I 
am  Boss  on  this  ship.  To  your  posts!  Ready- 
about  to  wear  ship.  Triplett,  take  the  helm."  (He 
had  come  smirking  out  of  the  cabin.) 

With  surly  "Aye,  aye,  sirs,"  they  took  up  their 
duties,  as  I  struck  sharply  on  the  table-bell  which 
was  screwed  to  the  combing,  the  faithful  Tatbury 
began  its  revolutions  and  once  more  the  little 
Kawa  slid  gracefully  through  the  long  Atlantic 
swells. 

It  was  a  magnificent  day  but  I  was  frankly  de 
pressed.  Already  a  cloud  of  discord  had  arisen  in 
the  ranks.  Already  an  ominous  rift  had  opened. 
What  might  happen  in  the  future  only  the  future 
could  tell.  I  was  filled  with  disquieting  memories 
of  what  had  occurred  to  other  Arctic  explorers 
whose  cohorts  had  been  split  by  dissension  and 
bitterness.  I  knew  full  well  how  they  had  sep 
arated,  sometimes  to  perish  under  the  very  shadow 
of  the  Pole  itself,  sometimes  to  fight  their  way 
back  to  civilization  in  broken  fragments  which 
spent  the  remainder  of  their  lives  in  vilifying  each 
other.  Little  did  I  realize  how  much  more  tragic 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        67 

was  to  be  the  outcome  of  this  apparently  trivial 
incident. 

In  the  meantime  I  was  lulled  into  false  security. 
Two  weeks  of  glorious  weather  made  our  progress 
exceed  even  my  sanguine  schedules.  Once  clear  of 
Cape  Race  our  course  lay  almost  due  north  and 
the  full  force  of  the  magnetic  pull  on  our  bowsprit 
could  be  utilized.  To  this  we  added,  in  favoring 
weather,  a  mainsail  forward  and  a  jigger  aft  so 
that  we  were  able  to  conserve  our  fuel  supply  most 
satisfactorily. 

Our  trip  through  Davis  Strait  into  Baffin  Bay 
was  a  sight- seeing  trip  new  to  most  of  my  men  and 
I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  point  out  to  them  the 
objects  of  interest  along  either  shore,  on  the  left 
the  cozy  English  hamlets  of  Mugford,  Chisling- 
hurst-on-Trent  and  Philpot  Island,  on  the  right  the 
quaint  Greendlandic  fishing  villages  of  Fiskernoes, 
Svartenhunk  and  Siikkertoppen,  names  eloquent  of 
their  respective  origins. 

The  days  grew  steadily  longer.  We  were  ap 
proaching  the  long  twilight.  On  a  memorable 
Tuesday  in  June  we  crossed  the  Arctic  Circle. 
This  is  always  an  exciting  event  but  particularly 
so  for  those  who  experience  it  for  the  first  time. 
Needless  to  say,  we  observed  the  ritual  honored  by 


68       MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

mariners  the  world  over.  This  follows  closely  the 
ceremony  celebrated  in  the  tropics  when  "crossing 
the  line,"  with  the  variation  that,  instead  of  Nep 
tune  coming  aboard,  the  aquatic  visitor  is  the  North 
King,  a  snowy  potentate  who  is  received  with  due 
honor  by  all  the  ship's  company,  especially  the 
novices,  who  are  forced  to  bring  him  presents  and 
perform  tricks  at  his  behest.  We  hove-to  in  a 
narrow  inlet  on  the  Baffin  shore  known  by  the 
romantic  name  of  Petty's  Bight,  where  we  spent 
a  blithe  two  hours.  Triplett  played  the  kingly  role 
while  I  acted  as  master  of  ceremonies.  I  must 
admit  that  this  did  not  tend  to  calm  the  somewhat 
ruffled  feelings  of  my  following  but  it  made  a 
merry  interlude  in  our  routine. 

During  the  long  evenings  Sausalito,  laying  aside 
her  busy  needle,  would  read  to  us  books  from  her 
own  library,  "The  Sheik"  and  the  works  of  Ethel 
Dell,  Harold  Bell  Wright  and  the  Johnstons,  Sir 
Harry  and  Owen.  It  was  surprising  how  enter 
taining  these  things  became  to  our  little  isolated 
band.  Often  after  a  particularly  serious  page  the 
reader's  sunlike  smile  would  flood  the  main-deck 
and  the  whole  company  would  burst  into  peals  of 
laughter;  then  once  more  we  would  sit  enthralled. 
It  must  have  been  her  voice.  Frissell,  alone, 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        69 

absented  himself  from  these  readings  and  sat  apart, 
lost  in  the  perusal  of  "If  Winter  Comes"  which 
he  supposed  was  a  work  intended  for  polar  novices. 

At  this  juncture  Whinney  was  having  a  most 
annoying  time  with  his  radio  outfit  upon  which  I 
had  counted  to  keep  the  company  amused.  The 
best  he  could  get  was  a  series  of  noises  which,  in 
themselves,  were  interesting  but  scarcely  entertain 
ing.  At  times  the  magna-vox  or  "loud  squeaker"  as 
Frissell  called  it,  would  emit  dismal  cat-calls  such 
as  I  have  often  heard  from  the  upper  gallery  of 
theatres. 

"That's  Arlington!"  Whinney  would  exclaim. 

Again  the  sound  would  be  that  of  penny-a-pack 
firecr ackers  such  as  one  gives  to  children. 

"Newark  is  calling  us!"  Whinney  would  say 
seriously.  "Wait  a  minute." 

A  series  of  readjustments  and  Jimmy  Valentine 
motions  with  the  combination  would  result  in  a 
raucous  scraping  as  if  a  discouraged  Victrola  had 
cut  its  throat. 

"Pittsburgh!"  would  be  the  operator's  tri 
umphant  comment.  "Wait  a  minute!" 

We  waited  many  a  minute  and  hour,  patiently 
expectant,  but  nothing  happened.  The  most  try 
ing  thing  was  Whinney's  explanation.  He  would 


THE  TWO  BEARS 

Ikik  is  solemn.  Ikik  is  offended.  Her  tender  heart  is  roused. 
Why?  In  the  answer  lies  the  story  of  one  of  the  most  charming 
incidents  of  the  Kawa's  entire  polar-cruise.  In  another  picture  the 
reader  will  see  Makuik  descending  with  murderous  intent,  on  the 
back  of  a  large  polar-hear.  Shortly  after  the  kill  it  was  dis 
covered  that  this  bear  had  just  become  a  mother.  Her  offspring 
— there  was  but  one — was  immediately  adopted  by  Ikik.  Mother- 
love,  which  flourishes  even  in  the  high  latitudes,  surrounded  the  little 
cub  with  every  protection.  First  reared  as  a  bottle-bear,  the  bearlet 
passed  safely  through  the  teething  period  and  soon  became  the  regu 
lar  attendant  of  his  foster-mother  who  fed  him  solicitously  at  every 
meal. 

It  was  this  devotion  which  brought  about  the  disturbance  recorded 
by  the  camera.  Warburton  Plock  seems  to  have  developed  an 
insatiable  fondness  for  toasted-blubber.  Not  content  with  his  own 
share  he  resorted  to  the  cowardly  practice  of  prigging  from  Toktok, 
as  this  ursus  minimus  was  called.  His  method  was  characteristic 
of  the  man,  combining  cunning  with  greed.  Having  privately  con 
structed  a  small  cube  of  wood  corresponding  in  size  to  the  usual 
blubber-portion  he  would  attract  Toktok's  attention  and  ostenta 
tiously  bury  the  decoy  in  the  snow  at  some  distance  from  the  actual 
feeding  ground.  Then,  while  the  little  chap  was  busily  digging  for 
the  supposed  dainty  Plock  would  swipe  the  real  blubber  which 
Makuik  distributed  with  an  impartial  hand. 

Ikik  was  no  match  in  logic  for  the  wily  scientist. 

"You  are  robbing  my  baby!"  she  wailed  in  the  present  instance. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Plock,  "and  your  baby  is  under  the  impression 
that  he  is  robbing  me." 

Needless  to  say  Dr.  Traprock  settled  this  matter  in  his  own  direct 
fashion.  As  he  said  in  conversation  with  the  writer,  "It  is  impossible 
to  argue  with  such  fellows.  The  only  practical  thing  is  to  crown 
them." 


The  Two  Bears 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        73 

fix  us  mournfully  with  his  brown  eyes,  while  at  the 
same  time  trying  to  fix  the  machine  and  say 
solemnly: 

"The  length  of  the  antennae  is  in  direct  relation 
to  the  wave  length  of  the  tuner.  At  the  same  time 
the  vacuum  tubes  must  be  connected  with  or,  at 
least,  related  by  oscillation  to  the  tuning  circuit. 
When  a  ship  is  in  motion  the  undue  number  of 
electric  'strays'  disturbs  the  delicate  filaments  of 
the  tickler  and  absolutely  wrecks  the  radio  activity." 

"I  had  one  of  those  Radio-Rex  things,"  cried 
Swank.  "My  sweetie  gave  it  to  me  for  Xmas." 

"I  suppose  you  gave  her  a  tickler,"  rumbled 
Triplett. 

The  whole  business  vastly  amused  the  old  salt. 
He  could  see  nothing  but  foolishness  in  Whinney's 
maneuvers,  "trying  to  git  God-a'mighty  on  the 
'phone,"  as  he  put  it. 

But  the  attempts  whiled  away  many  an  idle 
moment,  and  day  by  day  we  were  passing  land 
marks  which  told  me  clearly  that  our  goal  was 
nearer.  The  water  became  steadily  colder,  a  fact 
which  we  verified  by  the  usual  scientific  method  of 
dipping  out  pailfuls  from  time  to  time  and  taking 
their  temperature  with  a  bath  thermometer. 

At  the  northern  end  of  Kane  Basin  where  Green- 


74        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

land  makes  out  toward  Ellesmere  and  Grant  Land 
we  began  to  encounter  ice.  My  readers  can  per 
haps  imagine  the  thrill  which  was  mine  when  I  first 
heard  the  soft  scrape  of  frozen  lips  against  the 
Kawa's  silky  skin! 

Ice  at  last!  Ice!  the  vaunted  terror  of  the  north! 
Leaning  over  the  garboard  streak  I  watched 
anxiously  to  see  how  our  gallant  carrier  would  take 
to  the  element  for  which  she  was  designed.  It 
was  a  magical  performance  and  a  warm  glow  of 
satisfaction  suffused  my  heart  as  I  noted  how  she 
slipped  through  the  glazed  surface.  Far  beyond 
in  the  northern  sky  gleamed  the  "ice  blink,"  that 
luminous  brightness  which  told  of  frozen  fields  and 
floes  in  the  great  beyond.  We  could  feel  the  chill 
of  their  vast  bulk  as  we  sat  on  deck  of  an  evening. 

We  were  now  at  the  82nd  parallel  and  were 
passing  through  what  is  known  as  mulch  ice,  which 
is  of  about  the  same  consistency  and  saltiness  as 
ordinary  brine.  Wigmore  made  a  number  of  inter 
esting  experiments  with  a  small  freezer,  using  corn 
starch  and  condensed  milk  from  his  own  equipment 
and  was  able  to  produce  a  fair  quality  of  ice  cream 
which  had  a  slightly  oily  flavor  doubtless  due  to  the 
presence  of  seals.  From  then  on  the  ice  developed 
into  what  is  called  squidge-ice,  thicker  and  more 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        75 

lumpy  than  mulch,  but  still  navigable.  This,  how 
ever,  soon  became  a  solid  sheet,  from  four  to  ten 
inches  in  thickness,  the  Kawa's  progress  became 
slower  and  with  something  like  acute  anxiety  I 
requested  Whinney  to  switch  on  the  thermal  water 
line. 

The  effect  surprised  even  Whinney  whose  inven 
tive  imagination  had  proven  itself  capable  of  fore 
seeing  almost  anything  which  might  happen  and 
many  which  might  not.  We  were  instantly  sur 
rounded  by  a  dense  fog  of  our  own  making! 

The  ice  edges  of  the  squidge  coming  in  contact 
with  the  candescent  copper  vaporized  immediately 
and  the  atmosphere  on  board  became  that  of  a 
Turkish  steam-room.  As  is  often  the  case  it  was 
not  so  much  the  heat  as  the  humidity.*  Our  cloth 
ing  was  wringing  wet  and  we  were  perspiring  at 
every  pore.  It  was  easy  to  see  what  the  fatal  result 
would  be  when  we  shut  off  the  electric  spark  and 
exposed  our  wide-open  pores  to  the  icy  breath  of 
the  north.  Pneumonia  and  consumption,  if  not 
worse,  were  almost  certain. 

Ordering  all  hands  below  for  a  rub-down  we 

*  In  Taupol,  the  southernmost  of  the  Maladive  Islands,  I  lived 
for  three  months  in  a  similar  climate  without  injurious  results  but 
it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  I  wore  only  a  one-piece  suit  of  Khitra 
(gobang  leaves).  T. 


76        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

came  to  a  stand-still  and  for  two  days  did  nothing 
more  than  maintain  our  position  by  quarter-speed 
revolutions  of  the  Tutbury.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  Whinney  emerged  from  the  main  hatch,  where 
he  had  been  incubating  his  ideas,  with  a  look  of 
suppressed  elation  which  told  me  that  he  had  found 
a  solution  of  our  difficulty.  Without  a  word  he 
set  about  stringing  wires  from  the  storage  batteries 
to  two  points  on  the  forward  rail  on  a  line  with  the 
capstan.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  he 
had  lashed  two  electric  fans  to  the  projecting  sides 
of  the  guide  runners  and  screwed  the  wires  into 
the  poles  after  which  he  walked  aft  and  came  to 
attention. 

"You  may  fire  when  ready,  sir,"  he  said,  hand- 
at-visor. 

I  gave  the  signal  and  once  more  the  throb  of  the 
engines  shook  our  jelly-like  sides,  once  more  we 
heard  the  hiss  and  crackle  of  the  squidge  as  it  gave 
way  before  our  burning  zone  but — a  new  sound! 
We  also  heard  the  blended  sonority  of  the  two  fans 
as  they  pushed  a  powerful  current  of  air  along  our 
water  line.  Dense  and  low,  the  fog  streamed  past 
us  like  parted  rivers  of  milk,  to  rise  in  soft  clouds 
far  to  the  southward. 

A  spontaneous  cheer  burst  from  my  anxious  band 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        77 

and  we  gave  Whinney  three  times  three  with  a 
right  good  will.  At  Triplett's  suggestion — for  he 
was  overjoyed  at  being  able  to  see  where  he  was 
going — I  ordered  "half  holiday"  and  issued  five 
plugs  of  solid  alcohol  in  honor  of  our  resumed 
motion.  It  was  a  happy  evening  we  spent  in  the 
little  cabin,  Triplett,  Sausalito  and  I,  while  the 
others  sat  on  deck  in  the  pale  sunlight,  crooning 
the  old  song  which  has  been  sung  by  polar  ex 
plorers  since  viking  days,  "Nordenskold !  Nor- 
denskold !  Tilig  am  poel."  * 

Triplett's  adjustable  yardarm  which  controlled 
our  conviviality  was  occasionally  shifted  to  keep 
the  low  circling  sun  directly  over  it  and  many  a 
toast  was  eaten  as  the  cheery  plug  passed  round. 
My  last  conscious  memory  after  my  fifth  quid, 
was  the  sound  of  Frissell's  ukelele  above  my  head 
and  beside  me  the  unabashed  endearments  of  Trip 
lett  talking  to  his  "apple." 

*  "Northland !  Northland !  I  for  you  am."  Undoubtedly  the  frag 
ment  of  an  old  Saga  of  Icelandic  origin.  A  modern  musical  deriva 
tive  was  once  popular  in  American  folk  song  with  the  refrain,  "Hip, 
Hooray,  we're  off  for  Baffin's  Bay,  etc."  See  W.  J.  Krehbiel's  "Gems 
of  Greenland,"  pp.  94-96. 


CHAPTER  IV 

We  reach  the  polar  cap.  The  strange  incident  of 
the  missing  Orders.  Who  stole  the  papers? 
The  Arctic  summer.  A  sportsman's  Paradise. 
Notes  from  my  journal.  Whinney's  sad  ex 
perience. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"Men,  it  is  the  Ice." 

These  words  rang  with  a  portentous  solemnity 
as  I  delivered  them  to  the  entire  ship's  company. 

We  had  reached  the  solid  floe.  About  us,  white 
and  interminable,  stretched  the  polar  pack,  with 
here  and  there  inky  streaks,  the  open  "leads"  which 
often  yawn  between  the  very  feet  of  unwary 
travellers.  But  for  us,  the  way  lay  straight.  Glanc 
ing  at  the  compass  and  adjusting  my  gesture  par 
allel  to  its  needle,  I  pointed. 

"Yonder  lies  the  Pole!" 

The  seriousness  of  the  moment  imposed  a  silence 
broken  only  by  the  screams  of  distant  flocks  of 
pemmican  and  the  yooping  of  seals — for  we  were 
in  the  land  of  prolific  game.  The  second  leg  of 
our  journey  was  accomplished.  The  great  test  still 
remained,  the  long  tug  over  the  rough  floor  to  the 
Main  Post  itself. 

"Men  of  the  Traprock  Expedition,"  I  continued, 


THE  NINE  O'CLOCK  BOTTLE 

Here  we  have  a  typical  scene  in  Camp  Traprock  during  the  late 
days  of  the  Arctic-Indian-Summer.  Bartholomew  Dane,  the  Egypt 
ologist  and  Sausalito  are  busily  engaged  nursing  the  expeditionary 
mascot,  Toktok,  a  tiny  bear-cub  which  was  adopted  by  Ikik  after 
the  demise  of  its  parent.  The  picture  can  give  no  idea  of  the  pains 
taking  care  which  was  lavished  upon  the  little  pet.  As  in  the  case 
of  many  infants  it  was  extremely  difficult  to  find  a  food  upon  which 
he  would  gain  his  orthodox  ounce  a  day.  Various  forms  of  nourish 
ment  were  tried,  the  happy  formula  being  finally  found  in  a  four- 
ounce  bottle  administered  every  four  hours,  the  meal  consisting  of 
modified  whale's-milk  to  which  was  added  minute  particles  of 
"wheat-whiskers,"  a  cereal-diluent  to  the  perfection  of  which  Dr. 
Traprock  has  devoted  many  years  of  study. 

Ikik,  to  whom  credit  must  be  given  for  the  capture  of  the  cub, 
was  hopelessly  ignorant  of  how  it  should  be  cared  for.  Her  idea 
was  that  common  to  most  primitive  mothers,  namely,  that  the  infant 
should  be  immediately  put  upon  a  meat  or  fat  diet.  The  result  of 
this  treatment  was  loss  of  weight  and  incessant  crying  on  the  part 
of  Toktok.  Fortunately  the  ship's  library  contained  a  copy  of 
Holt's  "Care  and  Feeding  of  Infants,"  a  book  which  Dr.  Traprock 
says  he  never  feels  safe  without. 

Both  Dane  and  Sausalito  are  wearing  the  summer  costumes  which 
are  practically  a  necessity  during  the  heated  term.  Dane's  tropic 
helmet  with  its  deeply  overhanging  cornice  undoubtedly  saved  him 
from  the  dreaded  snow-blindness  which  so  fatally  attacked  his 
companion  Whinney.  The  attractive  dress  worn  by  Sausalito  is 
part  of  a  wardrobe  assembled  by  her  as  she  passed  through  Canada 
on  her  way  to  join  the  expedition.  The  fur-edged  chemisette  and 
roll-down  buskins  are  similar  to  the  parade  uniform  of  the  O'Howese 
Toboggan  Club. 


The  Nine  O'Clock  Bottle 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        85 

"you  have  served  me  long  and  faithfully.  The 
reward  of  our  efforts  lies  close  at  hand.  Yonder, 
I  repeat,  lies  the  Pole.  Captain  Triplett's  last 
observation  shows  that  we  are  at  86°  13'  67/g", 
fifteen  miles  better  than  all  previous  records,  Nan- 
sen's,  Steffanson's  and  Peary's  excepted.  We  are 
running  ahead  of  schedule  time.  From  now  on 
our  progress  will  be  slower.  But,  though  we  will 
not  be  dragging  light  sledges  over  the  ice,  remember 
that  we  carry  our  base  of  supplies  with  us.  'Tis 
an  arduous  task,  lads,  but  with  fair  weather  and 
good  luck  we'll  win  through  yet!" 

The  cheer  which  greeted  this  announcement  sur 
prised  me  by  its  feebleness.  I  had  felt  that  I  was 
doing  rather  well.  Plainly  a  number  of  voices 
were  silent.  Puzzled  and  apprehensive  I  glanced 
toward  my  men.  Warburton  Plock,  oily  and  defer 
ential,  stood  slightly  in  advance  of  the  others. 

"Have  you  read  your  orders?"  he  asked. 

"My  orders?"  I  replied, — "my  orders  from 
whom?" 

"Your  sealed  orders,"  he  repeated,  smiling 
craftily,  "the  ones  Waxman  handed  you  when  we 
left." 

I  did  not  like  his  tone.  I  detested  the  familiar 
way  in  which  he  spoke  of  the  aged  president  of  the 


86        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

Explorers  Union.  His  manner  was  that  of  veiled 
bravado.  The  air  was  highly  charged  as  before  a 
coming  storm. 

"My  brief-case  .  .  .  cabin  .  .  .  Swank.  .  .  . 
Fetch." 

I  was  excited  and  spoke  monosyllabically,  but 
Swank,  like  a  faithful  dog,  disappeared  at  the  word 
"fetch"  down  the  companion-way.  In  the  interval 
of  his  absence  a  thousand  black  thoughts  whirled 
through  my  brain.  These  mysterious  orders,  what 
were  they?  A  plot  .  .  .  something  was  afoot, 
some  deadly  blow  aimed  to  dash  the  cup  of  accom 
plishment  from  my  grasp  as  I  raised  it  to  my  lips. 
To  my  credit  I  can  say  that,  even  in  this  agonizing 
moment,  I  absolved  Dr.  Waxman  of  any  share  in 
this  dastardly  work.  I  seemed  to  see  his  benevo 
lent  sheep -like  face  smiling  a  good-bye,  while  be 
fore  me,  glowered  Plock,  palpably  gloating  at  my 
discomfiture.  But  orders  were  orders  and  duty  was 
duty.  Traprock  must  be  true !  With  a  hand  that 
trembled  in  spite  of  my  best  efforts,  I  grasped  the 
brief  case  which  Swank  proffered  and,  turning  it 
so  that  all  might  see,  I  opened  it. 

It  was  empty! 

I  stood  like  a  conjurer  surprised  by  his  own 
trick. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        87 

A  threatening  growl  rose  from  the  group  huddled 
about  Plock  who  now  came  forward  boldly,  his  face 
distorted  with  passion.  The  mask  was  off. 

"This  is  buncomb,  Traprock,"  he  shouted.  "You 
have  done  away  with  those  orders!  Where  are 
they?  You  know  perfectly  well  that  your  instruc 
tions  are  to  .  .  ." 

What  he  was  about  to  divulge  will  never  be 
known.  Whipping  up  my  left  arm  I  caught  his 
heel  with  my  right  foot  and  the  back  of  his  head 
struck  the  ice  with  a  crack  that  roused  the  distant 
pemmican  to  renewed  screaming.* 

"Stow  that  dunnage,"  I  said  quietly,  and  the 
limp  carcass  was  tossed  aboard  where  it  lolled 
grotesquely  over  the  hatch-combing. 

"To  your  places,  you  others  .  .  ." 

A  slow,  straining  heave  at  the  traces  brought 
the  Kawa  up  on  her  guide-runners  and  she  moved 
gracefully  across  the  ice. 

Pondering  mournfully  on  the  strange  turn  of 
events,  wondering  who  could  have  purloined  the 
fateful  packet,  but  taking  care  to  show  no  exterior 
sign  of  my  perplexity,  I  trudged  on,  occasionally 

*The  trick  is  one  I  learned  from  an  old  limehouse  "pug" 
whom  I  befriended  in  the  east-end  of  London.  He  could  only  show 
me  his  gratitude  by  teaching  me  the  secrets  of  his  trade,  which  have 
served  me  on  many  an  occasion. 


88       MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

breaking  the  silence  with  a  single  word  of  command. 
"Mush." 


Day  succeeded  day,  days  scarcely  marked  by  any 
change,  and  yet  there  was  no  sign  of  the  missing 
document.  The  most  rigid  search  was  fruitless  and, 
gradually,  the  incident  was  forgotten. 

So  unbroken  was  the  sunlight  that  it  was  only  by 
exercising  great  care  in  keeping  our  watches  wound 
that  we  were  able  to  know  definitely  just  what  day 
it  was.  As  time  wore  on,  confusion  arose.  Miskin 
insisted  that  it  was  Wednesday ,« Swank  held  out  for 
Thursday  and  so  on.  But  it  mattered  little.  They 
were  all  days  of  accomplishment  and  of  glorious 
Arctic  summer,  growing  steadily  hotter  as  we 
climbed  up  the  glacial  coverlet.  We  were  now 
beyond  the  latitude  of  my  previous  "farthest"  (87° 
21'  22")  which  I  had  reached  with  the  Royal 
Geographic  Expedition  which  met  such  a  tragic 
fate  on  its  return  trip  to  England.* 

The  insect  pests  began  to  be  very  troublesome 
and  I  thanked  the  high  Gods  for  the  green  veils  and 
mosquito-bars  which  made  life  tolerable.  A  part  of 

*The  entire  party  on  H.M.S.  Daffodil,  were  sunk  by  a  German 
submarine  off  St.  Jean  deLuz.  I  escaped,  having  disembarked  at 
Brigus,  N.  F.,  in  order  to  join  my  regiment  at  Derby,  Conn. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        89 

every  man's  equipment  was  an  atomizer  containing 
four  fluid  ounces  of  oil-of-citronella,  and  a  fly-swat 
ter  attached  to  his  wrist  by  a  thong  of  reindeer 
sinew.* 

I  was  amazed  at  the  tropic  temperature  of  these 
high  latitudes.  At  noon  the  thermometer  fre 
quently  stood  around  90°  Fahr.  in  the  shade  and  it 
must  be  remembered  that  there  was  no  shade.  Our 
thinnest  garments  were  none  too  comfortable  nor 
were  we  able  to  say,  as  is  usual,  that  the  nights  were 
cool,  for  again  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  there 
were  no  nights.  Hour  after  hour  the  brazen  disc 
of  the  sun  circled  round  the  heavens,  staring  piti 
lessly  at  the  moon  which,  strange  phenomenon! 
shone  palely  above  the  opposite  horizon  as  if  the 
two  great  planets  were  balancing  to  partners  in  a 
stately  astronomical  dance. 

At  definite  periods  sleep  was  the  order  of  the 

*  The  Arctic  mosquito  differs  from  his  southern  brothers,  the  com 
mon  stegomia  muflans,  in  that  he  does  not  strike  and  get  away.  Like 
the  Canadian  "wingle,"  where  he  bites  he  burrows,  and  that  with 
such  rapidity  that  one  must  be  swift  of  stroke  indeed  who  would 
escape  his  attack.  Within  a  few  seconds  he  disappears  beneath  the 
cuticle  and  dire  illness  is  the  result.  It  is  not  commonly  known  but 
I  am  convinced  that  the  Arctic  variety  is  the  carrier  of  the  scurvy 
germ,  that  dreaded  terror  of  travellers.  (See  Windenborg's  treatise 
"Die  Arbeiten  Stegomanische  und  Fleibeiten  von  dem  Nord-deutsches 
Landes,"  which,  while  making  many  absurd  claims  as  to  German 
supremacy  in  polar  regions,  contains  at  the  same  time  much  solid 
information).  T. 


90       MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

day,  an  enforced  regulation.  During  our  waking 
hours  we  struggled  on,  at  times  wading  through 
mulch  and  squidge,  at  times  sailing  through  seas  of 
melted  ice.  Yet,  though  the  sun's  rays  were  hot, 
there  still  remained  the  solid  pack  below,  too  vast  to 
be  more  than  touched  on  the  surface  by  this  fleeting 
summer. 

Though  we  were  surrounded  by  animal  life  it 
was  much  too  warm  for  hunting.  In  fact  the  very 
thought  of  such  things  as  blubber  and  fur  was 
nauseating.  Our  civilized  diet  and  clothing  were 
better  suited  to  our  stomachs  both  inside  and  out. 
But  how  quickly  the  warm  polar  weather  passed 
none  knew  better  than  I  and  from  my  place  in  the 
bow  I  urged  my  men  on  until  even  Swank  and 
Whinney  cast  reproachful  glances  at  me  over  their 
streaming  shoulders. 

"You  aren't  taking  the  Kawa  to  the  Pole,  she's 
taking  you,"  they  complained. 

"Mush,"  I  replied. 

A  fact  which  was  the  cause  of  surprised  comment 
by  several  members  of  the  expedition  was  that  we 
had  thus  far  encountered  no  Eskimos  on  our 
journey.  I  confess  that  I  myself  was  somewhat 
perplexed.  In  a  country  in  which  game  abounded  it 
seemed  strange  to  find  no  hunting  parties.  I  could 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        91 

account  for  this  phenomenon  by  two  courses  of 
reasoning;  either  the  natives  had  gone  south  to 
escape  the  intolerable  weather  which  we  were  ex 
periencing — for  it  will  be  remembered  that  these 
simple  folk  have  practically  no  way  of  combating 
heat — or  their  hunters  might  possibly  have  fallen 
victims  to  the  mistake  so  common  to  nimrods  the 
world  over,  of  leading  their  bands  into  localities  in 
which  there  was  no  game  whatever.  Upon  con 
sideration  the  latter  conclusion  seemed  the  more 
probable  for  it  follows  a  great  general  law  of 
humanity.  Each  of  my  readers  doubtless  numbers 
among  his  acquaintance  a  sportsman  who  makes  an 
annual  pilgrimage  into  inaccessible  regions  in 
search  of  caribou,  deer,  salmon  or  big-horn  and  who 
invariably  returns  with  a  tale  of  disappointment. 
"It  has  been  a  very  poor  year  for  caribou."  "There 
was  too  little  water — or  too  much."  These  excuses 
are  familiar  to  any  one  who  holds  converse  with  the 
disciples  of  rifle  and  rod. 

Our  case  was  different.  We  were  a  scientific 
group,  not  occupied  with  the  capture  of  animal 
trophies  and  so  we  naturally  saw  a  great  deal  of 
game. 

It  is  difficult  for  me  to  set  down  the  amazing 
amount  of  interesting  live  stock  which  flourished 


92        MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

about  us  at  every  stage  of  our  journey.  In  the 
lower  latitudes  these  were  the  more  familiar  cari 
bou,  rabbits,  wolves,  and  deer. 

A  sight  I  shall  never  forget  was  one  which  con 
fronted  us  shortly  after  clearing  the  westernmost 
point  of  Wrangel  Island.  This  was  in  the  earlier 
stages  of  our  journey  while  we  still  enjoyed  a  few 
hours  of  restful  darkness.  Through  the  murky 
night  I  heard  a  low  muttering  sound  with  an  oc 
casional  note  of  complaint  or  discontent.  The  noise 
was  not  single  and  distinct  but  vast  and  widespread 
as  if  a  large  area  of  land  had  become  vocal.  "What 
do  you  suppose  is  wrong?"  I  asked  Triplett  with 
whom  I  was  keeping  watch.  "There's  alms  some- 
thin'  wrong  on  Wrangel,"  said  that  worthy  im- 
perturbably.  But  I  could  see  that  he  was  interested 
for  he  kept  his  good-eye  alternately  on  our  compass 
and  the  dim  bulk  of  land  that  loomed  on  our 
quarter. 

Dawn  came  on  apace  and  a  marvellous  picture 
lay  before  us.  Far  into  the  interior,  on  the  snowy 
slopes,  were  millions  of  reindeer  feeding  on  the 
Christmas  trees  which  do  so  well  in  this  locality. 
The  noise  I  had  heard  was  the  swishing  of  great 
branches  and  the  guttural  grunts  of  these  pictur 
esque  mammals  as  they  devoured  their  provender, 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        93 

Others  of  my  men  had  stolen  on  deck  and  stood 
silently  watching.    Frissell  was  greatly  excited. 

"Who  said  there  wasn't  any  Santa  Claus!"  he 
cried,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  huge  herd 
tossed  its  broad-leaved  antlers  and  rushed  madly 
toward  the  distant  horizon  while  Frizzie  urged  them 
on  with  cries  of  "Now,  Vixen,  now,  Dasher!"  It 
was  an  odd  but  interesting  scene. 

The  Arctic  hares  were  not  as  numerous  as  I  have 
seen  them  on  my  previous  northern  trips  and  those 
I  observed  through  my  glasses  were  of  poor  quality 
and  sickly  physique.  Evidently  the  gradual  dying 
out  of  the  lapland  lark-spurs,  which  are  the  natural 
cover  of  the  hares,  has  worked  havoc  among  these 
charming  creatures.* 

But  now,  beyond  eighty-six,  we  had  left  behind 
us  these  semi-domestic  creatures  and  were  among 
the  truly  Arctic  animals,  those  weird  denizens  of 
berg  and  floe  which  civilization  sees  only  in  zoologi 
cal  gardens  or  vaudeville  performances.  From  my 
station  near  the  lore-peak  I  swept  the  horizon 
hourly  with  my  glasses  cataloguing  the  myriad 
species  of  Arctic  life  and  entering  them  in  my 

*  The  ever-watchful  Canadian  game  commission  has  taken  up  this 
matter  (which  vitally  affects  the  mitten  industry)  and  is  conducting 
at  the  Govt.  Laboratory  in  Ottawa  a  series  of  experiments  with 
various  hare-restorers.  W.  E.  T. 


INTENSIVE  OPTIMISM 

As  long  as  brave  deeds  are  recognized  and  heroic  fortitude  re 
ceives  its  just  due  the  name  of  Reginald  Whinney  will  shine  forth 
in  letters  of  gold.  Reference  is  made  in  the  text  to  his  tragic  attack 
of  snow-blindness  on  the  very  eve  of  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Traprock 
(and  party)  at  the  Pole.  This  untoward  visitation  (by  which  we 
mean  Whinney's  affliction,  not  the  Traprock  Expedition),  would  in 
itself  have  been  enough  to  break  the  heart  of  any  ordinary  man, 
but  not  the  heart  of  a  Whinney.  To  such  as  he  adversity  is  as  the 
sunshine  to  the  flower  or  the  flower  to  the  bee,  a  new  source  of 
inspiration  and  sweetness. 

In  the  early  days  of  his  blindness  he  was,  of  course,  greatly  de 
pressed.  "I  am  put  out  but  not  crushed"  was  his  simple  comment. 
Having  recourse  to  his  typewriter  he  recorded  that  touching  para 
phrase  of  Milton  ending  with  the  line,  "They  also  serve  who  only 
sit  and  type."  Then  came  the  magnificent  "Ode  to  the  Aurora," 
after  which  the  sun  of  his  vision  seemed  to  burst  through  the  walls  of 
his  temporary  night.  Full  of  sparkling  wit  and  joyous  laughter  he 
fully  earned  his  soubriquet  of  "Sunbeam-of-the-North."  Even  before 
breakfast  he  was  mirth  personified;  in  the  evening,  he  was  irrepressi 
ble.  The  Eskimos  found  in  him  a  source  of  inexhaustible  wonder. 
To  a  race  living  far  beyond  the  sound  of  a  songbird  his  carollings 
were  nothing  short  of  a  miracle. 

Dr.  Traprock  has  confessed  that  at  times  his  friend's  gaiety  was 
trying.  During  the  frightful  sufferings  of  the  return  journey,  for 
instance,  it  was  upsetting  to  face  starvation  and  death  to  the 
accompaniment  of  "I  love  a  lassie,"  warbled  by  the  stricken  scientist 
from  the  forepeak.  But  as  the  Doctor  acutely  remarks,  "How 
unjust  to  condemn  a  man  who  was  doing  the  only  thing  left  for 
him  to  do,  namely,  trying  to  cheer  us  up.  Moreover  I  knew  that  his 
optimism  was  but  blind.  Incessant  cheerfulness,  when  sincere  is 
impossible  to  stand;  I  can  enjoy  it  when  I  know  that  it  masks  a 
broken  heart." 


Intensive  Optimism 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        97 

journal  with  notes  as  to  quantity,  quality  and  other 
attributes  which  had  a  bearing  on  the  commercial  or 
scientific  value  of  the  type  referred  to.  I  can  give 
no  better  idea  of  this  sportsman's  paradise  than  by 
quoting  a  few  extracts  from  the  volume. 

For  instance,  under  date  of  June  18th,  I  find  the 
following : 

"June  18th.  86°  12'  5".  Bright  and  fair.  Going 
good.  For  two  hours  in  forenoon  passed  three 
large  seal  schools,  mainly  phoca  vitulina  and 
mitrata,  probably  about  one  thousand  per  school. 
Each  group  lay  taking  its  mid-day  siesta  near  the 
open  lead  with  sentinel  seals  carefully  posted  at 
regular  intervals.  They  maintained  this  position 
until  we  were  within  approx.  100  yds.  when 
they  slid  noiselessly  into  the  sea  where  I  watched 
them  at  play  for  sometime,  diving  over  and  under 
each  other  and  emitting  their  throaty  mating  cry 
of  'Ook,  ook.'  Peron  says  (See  Mammi-feres, 
Livraison,  Sept.,  1819,  p.  2)  that  the  phoca  vitulina 
are  monogamous  but  close  observation  of  a  large 
bull  seal  in  the  second  group  convinces  me  that  he 


is  in  error." 


"June  20th.  Slightly  cooler,  a  blessed  relief. 
More  seals  today  (Leopardina  and  Stemmatopus). 
Passed  one  group  at  feeding  time  and  watched 


98       MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

them  chase  the  smaller  otaries  into  shallow  ice  pools 
where  possession  of  the  fish  was  disputed  by  large 
flocks  of  pemmican.  The  smaller  fragments,  otary- 
eyes,  fins,  etc.,  were  in  turn  made-off  with  by  snow- 
buntings." 

"June  21st.  Climbed  to  main  truck  at  noon  and 
found  three  pemmican  eggs  in  crow's-nest.  Must 
have  been  laid  during  rest  period.  Left  them  for 
observation  and  posted  order  on  main  and  jigger 
to  leave  nest  strictly  alone.  Whales  spouting  to 
leeward,  evidently  genus  bone-head,  in  large 
quantity.  Memo.  Report  to  United  Corset  Mfrs. 
and  Umbrella  Makers."  * 

"June  28th.  Showers.  Vast  quantities  of  seals 
(Hirsutus)  the  true  fur-bearing  or  sack  seal. 
Called  the  entire  company  before  the  mast  and 
warned  them  against  shooting.  Rough  going  today 
over  raftered  ice.  Made  only  six  miles.  Mother 
pemmican  sitting  on  crow's-nest.  Polar  bears  be 
coming  more  numerous,  also  large  numbers  of  white 
foxes.  Disturbed  during  rest  period  by  snorting  of 

*  Since  his  return  to  New  York,  Dr.  Traprock  has  formulated  a 
bill  to  be  introduced  at  the  next  session  of  Congress.  The  bill  is 
aimed  directly  at  the  Fordney  tariff-schedule,  which  imposes  the 
highest  duties  on  whale-bone  since  whales  were  first  discovered. 
This,  according  to  Dr.  Traprock,  is  accountable  for  the  corsetless 
flapperism  of  today.  "The  higher  the  whale-bone  the  lower  th« 
corset,"  is  his  trenchant  comment. — Ed. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE        99 

walruses.  Memo.  Look  up  sealing-wax,  source  of 
supply,  market,  etc.  Another  week  should  see  us 
at  the  Pole!  Hold  fast  and  strike  hard." 

The  reader  can  imagine  with  what  difficulty  I 
restrained  my  companions  from  wholesale  slaughter 
of  the  thousands  of  friendly  creatures  among  whom 
we  were  making  our  slow  but  steady  progress.  We 
were  individually  armed  and  equipped  for  any 
event  which  might  befall  us,  but  many  considera 
tions  urged  me  to  be  firm  in  this  regard  and  my 
posted  notices,  "No  hunting  or  fishing  under 
penalty  of  the  law,"  were  sternly  enforced.  Prima 
rily  I  wished  to  save  time,  knowing  full  well  what 
delay  would  be  caused  by  the  pursuit  and  what  in 
convenience  by  the  capture  of  any  of  the  hulking 
carcasses  which  surrounded  us.  Secondly  I  was 
anxious  to  conserve  ammunition  for  a  time  when 
it  might  be  needed.  Our  own  food  supply  was 
ample  and  it  seemed  wise  to  defer  experiments  with 
eskimo  diet  until  absolutely  necessary. 

How  fortunate  this  caution  proved  will  be  re 
lated  in  its  proper  place.  That  we  should  ever  be 
thrown  entirely  upon  our  own  resources  naked  and 
stripped  in  this  far  land,  seemed  totally  unlikely. 
But  who  knows  the  design  of  an  inscrutable  pro 
vidence  !  Not  I,  for  one. 


100      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

Two  days  from  the  Pole  a  tragic  misfortune  be 
fell  one  of  our  little  group,  none  other  than  my 
faithful  friend,  Reginald  Whinney. 

He  had  come  to  me  in  the  morning  and  asked  for 
a  two  hours  leave  from  the  traces  to  take  up  work 
which  he  said  was  more  scientific,  namely,  the  study 
of  the  snow  algse  which  blossomed  about  us  in  rare 
profusion.  As  it  was  my  custom  to  let  my  men  out 
of  harness,  two  at  a  time,  to  pursue  their  various 
specialties,  I  readily  assented. 

"Whinney,  botanist  and  Dane,  Egyptologist,  on 
leave"  was  the  order  of  the  day. 

They  departed  in  opposite  directions.  Scientists 
in  general  avoid  each  other's  company  when  mak 
ing  discoveries  and  these  were  no  exception.  It 
was  the  last  Whinney  saw  of  us  for  many  weeks. 

At  seven-and-a-half-bells  Dane  came  aboard 
and  went  below  to  file  his  data.  Eight-bells 
sounded  and  still  no  Whinney.  With  my  glasses  I 
scanned  the  expanse  about  us.  Far  away  on  our 
starboard  bow  I  glimpsed  for  an  instant  a  moving 
black  speck,  lost  it  in  the  quivering  lens,  found  it 
again  and  held  it.  Was  it  a  bear?  No,  it  was  too 
black.  A  seal?— too  tall! 

In  an  instant  I  had  given  the  order,  "Cease 
mushing!" 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      101 

"Swank,  Wigmore,  come  with  me.  Triplett, 
you  are  in  command." 

We  were  off  in  a  trice.  As  we  drew  near  the 
distant  figure  I  saw  that  it  was  indeed  Whinney. 
But  what  was  he  doing? 

He  was  tottering  about  in  vague  circles  like  a 
man  distraught.  Just  as  I  came  up  to  him  he  fell 
forward  on  his  knees  with  a  despairing  cry,  cover 
ing  his  face  with  his  hands.  Gently  holding  him 
by  the  wrists,  I  lifted  him  up ;  his  arms  dropped  to 
his  side  and  I  knew  the  awf  ul  truth. 

I  mentioned,  when  Whinney  left  the  ship,  that 
he  would  see  no  more  of  us  for  many  weeks.  It 
was  true,  for  though  we  could  see  him,  the  poor 
fellow  could  not  see  us. 

"Blind!  Blind!"  he  shrieked,  sinking  down  in 
despair  and  beating  his  head  against  the  ice. 

Again  we  raised  him  and,  soothing  him  as  best  I 
could,  I  rubbed  his  inflamed  lids  with  a  sharp  piece 
of  snow  crust,  a  native  cure  in  such  cases.  But  we 
were  too  late  to  effect  a  cure.  Wearied  by  gazing 
at  the  minute  flower-forms  of  the  alga?,  dazzled  by 
the  glaring  snow  crystals,  my  friend's  eyes  had 
fallen  an  easy  prey  to  acute  snow-blindness. 

"Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you,  men,"  I  said  after 
we  had  led  our  patient  back  to  the  ship.  "If  any 


102      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

man,  in  the  future,  leaves  this  deck  without  his 
goggles,  let  him  take  the  consequences.  This  ex 
pedition  cannot  be  allowed  to  develop  into  a  game 
of  blind  man's  buff." 

Whinney  sat  whimpering  on  the  port  rail,  a 
pathetic  sight.  Though  I  spoke  sternly  I  could 
but  grieve  in  my  heart  for  the  tragic  irony  of  his 
fate. 

Many  brave  adventurers  have  struggled  and  died 
in  vain  efforts  to  reach  the  top  of  the  world.  To 
Reginald  Whinney  remains  the  sad  distinction  of 
being  the  only  man  in  the  world  who  has  been  to  the 
North  Pole  and  back  without  seeing  it! 


CHAPTER  V 

The  last  ten  miles.  A  mental  observation.  We 
lose  our  magnetic  bow-sprit.  The  Big  Peg  at 
last!  "The  Lady,  first!"  We  celebrate  our 
arrival.  I  glimpse  a  vision. 


108 


CHAPTER  V 

July  fourth,  1921. 

"Eighty-nine  and  two  tenths!"  said  Capto 
Triplett. 

"Eighty-nine  and  two  tenths,"  echoed  Miskin, 
jotting  down  the  figures. 

Our  navigator  lowered  the  astrolabe  through 
which  he  had  been  peering  and  folded  up  his  artifi 
cial  horizon.  He  then  figured  for  a  few  moments 
on  the  edge  of  the  taffrail,  scrupulously  erasing  the 
calculation  with  a  combination  of  saliva  and  sleeve 
before  he  announced  in  his  usual  formula: 

"She  proves.    Key-rect  as  hell." 

I  piped  down  the  engines  and  ordered  the  com 
pany  abaft.  We  wrere  working  through  an  open 
lead  at  the  time. 

The  moment  had  come  for  another  important 
announcement.  These  were  of  almost  daily  oc 
currence  at  this  time,  each  stage  of  our  journey 
having  been  marked  by  the  establishment  of  a 

105 


THE  AVOWAL 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  temperamental  Swank  would 
long  remain  proof  against  the  attractions  of  the  beguiling  Klinka 
maidens  and  here  we  have  evidence  of  him  running  true  to  form,  the 
form  in  this  case  being  that  of  Kliptok,  the  youngest  of  the  Mrs. 
Makuiks.  The  scene  is  the  sub-polar  apartment  of  the  Kryptok 
hunter,  hewn  from  the  ageless  ice. 

Obviously  a  tender  passage  is  in  progress.  The  jaunty  Swank, 
holding  in  his  hand  a  bunch  of  lapland-larkspurs,  which,  it  should 
be  remarked,  were  completely  out  of  season  at  the  time,  is  not  only 
saying  it  with  flowers  but  with  all  the  practised  ardor  of  a  grade 
A  Romeo. 

"You  are  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world,"  he  whispers.  "I  have 
never  met  anyone  like  you  in  all  my  life." 

The  child  hears  and  believes. 

"You  are  so  original!"  she  murmurs,  bending  her  seal-like  ear. 

"And  you  so  aboriginal!" 

"More!"  she  sighs  passionately. 

"Have  you  ever  been  to  Niagara  Falls?" 

At  this  point,  due  to  the  rising  temperature,  great  drops  of  water 
began  to  fall  from  the  ice-roof  and  a  harsh  command  from  Makuik 
drove  the  lovers  into  the  open  air. 

In  justice  to  Mr.  Swank  it  should  be  stated  that  all  wife-wooing 
was  conducted  with  the  full  knowledge  and  consent  of  the  husband. 
Makuik's  ulterior  motive,  doubtless,  was  to  secure  additional  hunters 
for  his  tribe.  Alas,  for  Swank's  romantically  planned  honeymoon, 
it  was  doomed  to  end  as  so  many  do,  in  disappointment. 


The  Avowal 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      109 

record  for  ship  travel.  It  had  therefore  become  my 
custom  to  call  the  men  together  as  soon  as  our  posi 
tion  had  been  officially  announced,  at  which  time  we 
held  a  sort  of  business  "causerie,"  chatted  over  what 
had  been  accomplished,  discussed  the  future  plans 
and  policy  of  the  expedition  and  so  on,  much  as  is 
done  today  in  business  organizations  whose  lack  of 
business  gives  them  ample  timeTfor  such  recreations. 

Today,  more  than  ever,  I  felt  the  responsibility 
of  my  position.  Having  gained  in  assurance  and 
poise  by  reason  of  experience  at  previous  meetings, 
my  words  were  terse  and  well-chosen. 

"Men,"  I  said,  "and  lady'*  (bowing  to  Sausalito, 
who  waved  a  tennis  shoe  at  me),  "the  end  is  well 
nigh  come.  The  goal  for  which  we  have  labored  is 
almost  in  sight.  The  Pole,  reputed  inaccessible,  is 
at  hand.  No  longer  the  interminable  leagues  in 
tervene.  No  longer  do  the  long  miles  stretch  be 
tween  us  and  our  object.  We  have  annihilated  space 
—and  time!"  (Cries  of  "Hear,  Hear!") 

"Men  of  the  Traprock  Expedition,  tried,  true 
and  trusty  Traprockians,  we  have  almost  completed 
our  journey,  we  are  nearly  there,  the  long- 
sought " 

A  tremendous  cheer  interrupted  me.  My  com 
panions  were  unable  to  control  themselves,  and  my 


110      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

oratorical  intuition  told  me  that  it  was  the  moment 
to  stop. 

With  a  sweeping  gesture  toward  the  North,  I 
shouted  the  magic  monosyllable  "Mush!"  and  sat 
down. 

In  polar  travel  the  last  ten  miles  are  invariably 
the  hardest.  One  is  spent  and  exhausted.  Ice  con 
ditions  north  of  eighty-seven  are  increasingly  dif 
ficult.  Absolutely  nothing  has  been  done  by  either 
Canadian  or  United  States  Governments  toward 
keeping  the  national  highways  in  condition. 
Raftered  floes,  composed  of  sheets  of  twenty-foot 
ice,  piled  up  like  badly  shuffled  playing  cards,  often 
directly  oppose  one's  progress.* 

But  all  things  yield  to  an  iron  will.  We  had  not 
come  thus  far  to  be  thwarted  and  our  nearness  to 
success  roused  me  to  feverish  energy.  As  I  look 
back  on  that  last  day  I  am  amazed  at  some  of  the 
things  we  did. 

It  has  never  been  my  habit  to  dodge  a  difficulty 
and  true  to  this  principle  we  made  straight  at  every 
barrier.  There  was  no  dodging  or  deviating.  Some 
we  climbed,  some  we  tunneled  (the  Kawa's  masts 

*  The  only  highway  comparable  to  the  above,  in  my  experience, 
is  the  main  street  of  Portchester,  N.  Y.,  which  has  been  torn  up 
since  the  memory  of  man.  Some  of  the  rocks  in  the  middle  of  this 
thoroughfare  are  of  volcanic  origin.  The  detours  are  even  worse. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      111 

folded  back  along  her  deck),  some  we  blew  up, 
though  I  hesitated  to  resort  to  this  process  for  the 
practical  reason  of  wishing  to  save  my  ice  bombs, 
and  the  more  sentimental  dislike  of  breaking  the 
mystic  silence  of  the  North  with  a  sound  so  ex 
traneous  and  artificial  as  that  of  blasting. 

The  northern  silence  has  always  seemed  so  pure 
and  chaste  that  the  thought  of  shattering  it  was 
extremely  repugnant.  It  was  like  violating  a 
virgin.  It  was,  however,  necessary  to  do  this  at 
times.* 

Toiling,  sweating,  cursing,  singing  and  shouting 
with  excitement,  we  fought  our  way  foot  by  foot, 
mile  by  mile,  over  the  rough  ice-cap. 

It  was  marvellous  to  see  how  the  Kawa  behaved, 
how  magnificently  her  pliant  flanks  adapted  them 
selves  to  the  jagged  contours,  how  intelligently 
and  naturally  she  oozed  over  and  between  difficul 
ties,  pressed  in  here,  bulging  out  there,  svelte,  seal- 
like  and  delicious. 

My  office  was  that  of  general  exhorter  and  en- 
courager.  It  would  never  have  done  for  me  to 

*  The  explosive  used  is  a  development  of  Whinney's  along  sug 
gestions  made  by  me.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  give  the  chemical 
formula,  but  its  lines  of  force  are  bi-lateral  instead  of  perpendicular 
as  is  the  case  with  lyddite  and  the  other  nitroglycerine  derivatives. 
To  any  one  especially  interested  in  ice  blasting  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
furnish  additional  information.  W.  E.  T. 


112      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

take  the  lines  and  do  any  actual  pulling;  the  men 
would  have  lost  respect  for  me  at  once.  But  I  was 
never  idle  for  a  moment.  Armed  with  an  old  riding 
crop,  a  relic  of  my  days  as  M.F.H.  of  the  Derby 
Hounds,  I  circled  about  my  straining  comrades, 
shouting  encouragement  and  occasionally  flicking 
them  smartly  on  back  and  buttock.  They  re 
sponded  valiantly,  though  not  a  few  black  looks 
were  thrown  at  me. 

At  the  top  of  every  ice  hurdle  we  stopped  to  rest 
and  I  issued  extra  rations  of  alcohol  plug.  It  was 
little  enough  to  repay  these  gallant  chaps  for  their 
exertions  and  surely  this  was  no  time  to  play  the 
niggard  with  the  "A-P"  as  we  called  it.  Once  re 
freshed,  and  the  ice  slide  ready,  we  coasted  down 
the  northward  incline  and  spun  merrily  across  the 
level  floe. 

Late  in  the  day,  I  called  a  halt.  My  comrades, 
somewhat  exhausted  by  their  exertions  and  a  little 
affected,  perhaps,  by  my  generous  distributions  of 
A-P,  sank  on  the  ice  near  their  traces  or  crawled  up 
on  the  Kawa's  soft  counter  and  fell  asleep. 

I  was  glad  of  their  unconsciousness  for  I  was 
very  much  excited.  We  must  be  nearly  there! 

Before  us  rose  a  gentle  snow  eminence,  the  merest 
swelling  in  the  white  plain,  such  as  would  be  called 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      113 

a  mountain  in  the  middle  west.*  Beyond  this, 
unless  I  was  mistaken,  lay  the  Pole. 

"Triplett,"  I  said  excitedly,  "can  you  make  a 
quick  observation?" 

"Sure,"  he  observed.  One  glance  at  the  low  hang 
ing  sun  was  enough  for  my  old  navigator.  Rolling 
back  his  eyes  he  looked  for  a  moment  into  that 
reliable  brain  of  his.  I  saw  that  he  was  taking  a 
mental  observation!  Marvellous  man!  In  breath 
less  silence,  I  waited. 

"Eighty-nine  and — nine  tenths,"  he  whispered. 
Sweat  stood  out  on  his  forehead  and  rolled  in  little 
rivers  through  his  corrugations.  This  sort  of  thing 
was  plainly  exhausting. 

Quickly  handing  him  an  emergency  plug  I  rose. 

At  that  moment  Warburton  Plock  came  toward 
me.  Though  I  disliked  him  more  than  ever,  he  had 
been  deferential  and  polite  since  I  had  faced  him 
down  in  his  silly  fuss  over  my  orders,  so  that  I 
listened  attentively  while  he  spoke. 

"Doctor,  with  your  permission  I'm  going  to  un 
ship  the  magnetic  bowsprit  and  set  it  here  as  a  bea 
con.  We  must  be  way  above  the  Magnetic  North 

*  The  lowest  mountain  in  the  world  is  Mt.  Clemens,  Mich.,  which 
has  an  altitude  of  6  ft.  above  lake  level.  I  once  climbed  it  on 
crutches.  W.  E.  T. 

8 


114      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

by  now  and  it  is  pulling  us  backward  instead  of 
forward." 

"Very  good,"  I  answered.  "Your  idea  has 
merit." 

He  touched  his  cap  pleasantly  and  went  forward. 
I  liked  the  idea  of  leaving  a  beacon  or  cairn.  It  is 
the  proper  thing  among  explorers.  Here  and  there 
we  had  run  across  them,  an  occasional  pile  of  snow, 
topped  by  a  gin  bottle  enclosing  a  message  from 
some  previous  expedition,  empty  containers  of 
various  sorts  whose  labels  were  mute  memorials  to 
the  achievement  of  the  great  white  race!  Walker, 
Haig  and  Booth,  imperishable  names  these,  with  a 
solemn  splendor  when  found  on  the  white  register 
of  the  North. 

I  watched  the  work  with  interest.  Plock  and 
Miskin  were  busy  at  the  bow-chains,  Swank,  Wig- 
more  and  Frissell  prepared  the  site,  hewing  out 
rude  blocks  with  their  ice  picks,  while  Sausalito 
cackled  encouragement.  She  was  knitting  a  slip-on 
of  reindeer  yarn. 

Suddenly  a  shout  of  dismay  rose  from  under  our 
forefoot.  I  saw  Plock  and  Miskin  struggling  with 
the  bowsprit.  Evidently  they  had  completely  mis 
calculated  the  strength  of  the  magnetic  pull. 

"Help!"  cried  Plock. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      115 

I  sprang  forward,  even  as  the  others  threw  down 
their  picks  and  dashed  toward  the  bow. 

We  were  too  late. 

Jammed  against  the  side  of  the  ship,  his  hands 
torn  and  bleeding  Miskin  was  forced  to  relinquish 
his  grasp.  With  but  the  weight  of  Plock  at  its  butt 
end  the  long  pole  shot  off  at  an  angle  across  the 
ice. 

"Leave  it  go!"    I  ordered. 

But  Plock  was  too  dazed,  too  enraged  to  hear  me. 
Fortunately  at  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards  his 
head  struck  a  ridge  of  ice  and  he  keeled  over. 

Free  of  all  hindrance,  the  steel  stick  bounded  off 
with  amazing  rapidity,  leaving  a  faint  trail,  straight 
and  true  to  the  Magnetic  North.  I  watched  it 
through  my  glasses  until  it  disappeared  over  the 
horizon  to  the  southwest, — and  there  it  is  today,  for 
all  to  see  who  visit  those  strange  regions,  a  record 
of  the  Traprock  Expedition  placed  there  by  a  power 
more  mysterious  and  greater  than  that  of  human 
hands. 

Plock  was  gathered  up  and  the  company  once 
more  assembled. 

This  time  I  wasted  no  words.  "Men,  we  are 
there.  Beyond  yonder  eminence  is  the  Pole.  Ten 
minutes,  twenty  at  most,  and  then — rest!" 


ABOUT  TO  BE  CAPTURED 

This  picture  represents  what  is  probably  the  high-spot  in  Dr. 
Traprock's  absorbing  narrative,  namely,  the  moment  just  before  the 
author  and  his  friend  Swank  burst  from  their  hiding-places  and 
captured  Ikik,  the  Klinka  maid,  who  is  seen  crouching  over  the  bait 
which  in  this  case  was  the  scarlet  hunting-coat  worn  by  Dr.  Trap- 
rock  during  many  an  exciting  chase,  though  none,  we  venture  to  say, 
compared  to  this.  Critics  of  this  picture  have  said  that  the  coat 
seemed  unnecessarily  voluminous.  In  explanation  it  may  interest 
our  readers  to  know  that  at  meetings  of  the  Derby  Hounds,  which 
organization  takes  its  origin  from  the  ancient  Epsom  Hunts  of 
England,  the  M.  F.  H.  wears  the  medieval  hunting  costume,  the  folds 
of  which  cover  the  rider,  horse  and  at  times  several  of  the  hounds 
as  well.  The  thought  of  our  intrepid  friend  Traprock  thus  clad 
in  full  cry  suggests  an  inspiring  sight.  He  says  himself  with  his 
usual  modesty,  "The  coat  has  always  attracted  women,  but  I  have 
usually  been  in  it." 

Better  than  words  our  illustration,  snapped  by  Swank  through  the 
eye  of  "Dr.  Pease,"  gives  an  idea  of  the  simple  beauty  of  the  Klinka 
summer-furs.  Though  she  has  thrown  aside  her  oomiak  she  is  plainly 
apprehensive.  Something  is  in  the  air,  she  knows  not  what. 

It  was  Dr.  Traprock's  intention  to  capture  the  maid  as  politely 
as  was  consistent  with  success.  After  the  diving-tackle  which  he  has 
described  he  had  expected  to  deliver  a  conciliatory  speech  beginning, 
"Madame,  I  assure  you  my  intentions  are  perfectly  honorable." 
Makuik's  arrival  interrupted  this  program  but  we  feel  that  in  justice 
to  Dr.  Traprock  his  plan  should  be  known  lest  some  of  our  readers 
assume  that  he  was  unnecessarily  rough.  In  the  old  Norman, 
"Chroniques  de  la  Noblisse,"  we  find  significant  note  referring  to 
Jean  Marie  Piegeroche,  an  early  ancestor  of  the  author.  Says  the 
historian,  "Fort  comme  la  mort,  beau  comme  le  soleil,  et  toujour 
rosse  mais  pas  trop  rosse."  "Strong  as  death !  Beautiful  as  the  sun, 
rough  .  .  .  but  not  too  rough."  It  is  indeed  the  Doctor. 


About  to  be  Captured 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      119 

With  hearty  good  will  they  sprang  to  their  po 
sitions  and  we  shot  forward  up  the  gentle  grade. 

Exactly  twelve  minutes  later  we  reached  the  crest 
and  below  us,  sparkling  in  the  sunlight,  stood  the 
Pole  itself. 


How  can  I  possibly  describe  the  scene  and  the 
sensations  of  that  inspiring  moment?  Physically 
the  outlook  was  perhaps  unimportant  save  for  a 
feature  that  set  my  blood  tingling  while  it  stilled 
my  heart  in  reverence.  This  feature  was  Peary's 
cairn! 

It  was  untouched,  unchanged. 

From  the  moment  the  object  of  the  Traprock 
Expedition  was  announced  I  had  been  haunted  by  a 
vague  fear  that  some  other  group  would  head 
straight  for  my  goal,  dragging  with  them  some 
hapenny-tuppenny  ships  model  wherewith  to  wither 
my  laurels. 

It  was  not  so. 

Before  us,  a  few  hundred  yards  distant  in  the 
center  of  a  shallow  bowl  stood  the  rude  monu 
ment  of  the  great  Commander,  just  as  he  had  left  it. 
From  the  summit  and  flanks  of  the  miniature 
mountain  fluttered  the  tattered  ensigns  he  had 


120      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

placed  there,  our  country's  flag,  the  red  cross,  the 
D.K.E.  banner  and  the  others. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  were  nailed  to  a  stout  spar, 
evidently  an  extra  yard-arm  or  spare  jigger  from 
the  Roosevelt.  This  mast  still  stood,  a  graphic 
symbol  of  the  Pole  itself,  as  if  the  giant  axis  of  the 
earth  projected  beyond  its  surface.  It  was  slightly 
out  of  plumb  and  the  wood  toward  the  base  was 
somewhat  abraded. 

But  of  the  vandalism  of  late  visitants  there  was 
not  a  trace.  No  picnic  baskets  or  discarded  lily- 
cups  marred  the  snowy  surroundings.  No  other 
ship,  great  or  small,  had  made  fast  to  Mother 
Earth's  last  mooring, 

We  rushed  toward  the  spot  in  helter  skelter 
fashion,  but  ten  yards  from  the  cairn  a  thought, 
almost  morbid  in  its  chivalrousness,  seized  me. 

I  must  stop  this  mad  rush. 

How? 

Whipping  out  my  Colt  I  fired  three  shots  in 
quick  succession.  It  was  the  return-to-the-ship 
signal.  The  crowd  hesitated,  irresolute. 

On  the  instant  I  dashed  ahead  and  faced  about. 

"Gentlemen,"  I  cried,  "though  thousands  of  miles 
from  home,  remember,  you  are  gentlemen.  The 
lady,  first!" 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      121 

Offering  Sausalito  my  arm  we  climbed  the  slope 
together. 

The  others  arrived  en  masse.  Swank,  Plock, 
Sloff,  they  were  all  like  children  playing  a  game  of 
prisoner's  base,  with  the  Pole  as  home.  Poor 
Whinney  was  "it." 

In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  I  had  forgotten 
him.  He  was  a  pitiful  spectacle  as  he  came  tap- 
tapping  his  way  across  the  ice,  feeling  each  step  with 
his  cane.  We  watched  him  in  silence  until  I  saw 
that  he  was  going  to  miss  the  Pole  entirely  and  if 
not  stopped  would  soon  be  bound  south  again  for  an 
indefinite  period.  Tenderly  Sausalito  and  I  led 
him  to  the  cairn  while  her  rich  voice  murmured 
comfort  in  his  ear.  He  was  beside  himself  with 
emotion  and  hot  tears  kept  welling  from  under  his 
goggles. 

"The  touch  of  a  woman's  hand!"  he  sobbed,  as  he 
smoothed  mine  with  his. 

Frissell's  arrival  was  characteristic.  He  made 
the  last  sixty  yards  between  the  Kawa  and  the  Pole 
on  a  pogo  stick — a  new — in  fact  the  only — record 
for  an  event  of  this  kind. 

Second  only  to  ourselves  was  the  Kawa  and  will 
ing  hands  soon  hauled  her  across  the  intervening 
distance  and  made  her  fast. 


122      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

The  great  objective  of  my  polar  push  had  been 
gained  and  with  a  reverent  heart  I  called  the  men 
together  for  short  but  appropriate  ceremonies. 

After  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  by  Miskin,  we 
sang  as  much  of  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  as  we 
could  remember  and  ate  a  silent  toast  to  the  memory 
of  great  explorers  who  had  come  and  gone.  I  then 
made  a  few  appropriate  remarks,  outlining  the 
progress  of  polar  travel  from  Norse  days  down  to 
the  present  and  we  then  proceeded  to  the  pictur 
esque  "planting  of  the  flags."  It  was  a  charming 
picture  in  the  amber  sunlight,  not  unlike  the  final 
chorus  of  some  great  operatic  spectacle  in  which  the 
nations  of  the  earth  are  gathered  together. 

Forming  in  a  circle  we  marched  slowly  about  the 
cairn  singing  the  ancient  song:  "Nordenskold — 
Nordenskold — helvig  am  trein,"  each  man  planting 
his  flag  at  the  close  of  a  verse,  in  the  order  named : 

Traprock,  U.S.A.,  Swank,  Sons  of  American 
Revolution;  Whinney,  Guidon  of  the  Derby  Fen- 
cibles  (sometimes  called  the  "Desperate  Derbies") ; 
Sausalito,  Lucy  Stone  League;  Frissell,  Dutch 
Treat  Club  of  New  York;  Plock,  Explorers 
Union;  Miskin,  National  Geographic  Society; 
Triplett,  New  Bedford  Chamber  of  Commerce; 
Sloff,  Ass.  Astronomers  of  America;  Wigmore, 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      123 

Society  for  the  Preservation  of  New  England  An 
tiquities  ;  Dane,  Egypt. 

With  the  cairn  thus  gaily  decorated  and  the 
Kawa's  full  alphabet  of  signal  flags  flying  fore  and 
aft  spelling  the  word  "Victory,"  the  formal  cere 
monies  were  over  and  I  gave  the  order  for  complete 
rest,  relaxation  and  enjoyment. 

How  thoroughly  these  instructions  were  carried 
out  may  well  be  imagined.  Three  days'  rations  of 
every  sort  were  dragged  from  the  hold  and  spread 
about  us.  Without  further  urging  all  hands  fell  to. 
Every  man  had  five  A-P's  and  a  bountiful  supply 
of  potted  ham,  herring  and  salt  codfish.*  This 
somewhat  arid  diet  was  washed  down  with  copious 
draughts  of  melted  snow  thickened  with  A-P,  and 
the  celebration  soon  attained  a  terrific  muzzle 
velocity.  Songs  echoed  across  the  surrounding 
plain,  merry  tales  were  passed  about,  tales  which 
brought  a  dull  glow  to  Sausalito's  cheeks  and 
caused  old  Triplett  to  slap  his  thigh  with  delight. 

Frissell  was  a  host  in  himself.  He  performed 
tricks  of  magic,  imitations  and  feats  of  acrobatics 

*  These  compact  and  easily  carried  food  stuffs  formed  a  large 
part  of  our  store.  With  the  addition  of  a  little  water  they  increase 
greatly  in  bulk  and  nutritive  value.  The  idea  came  to  me  when 
stranded  for  two  weeks  in  the  Dry  Tortugas,  during  which  time  I 
lived  entirely  on  an  old  carriage  sponge  which  I  found  on  the 
beach.  W.  E.  T. 


124      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

and  ventriloquism,  appearing  successively  in  various 
costumes  from  his  inexhaustible  supply.  The  quiet 
Miskin  disclosed  an  unsuspected  social  gift  and 
lured  us  into  guessing  games. 

"What  is  the  distance  from  Bremen  to  Hong 
Kong?" 

We  were  staggered.  Miskin,  from  the  store  of 
his  librarian  experience,  knew  the  answer.  It  was 
dull,  but  helped  to  keep  the  others  sober  for  a  few 
extra  hours. 

The  three  days'  rations  lasted,  I  think,  about  one 
full  24-hour  day. 

A  single  unpleasant  incident  marred  the  close  of 
the  entertainment. 

Plock,  who  was  enormously  exhilarated,  crawled 
toward  me  and  pointed  toward  the  D.K.E.  flag 
above  us. 

"D.K.E.  song,"  he  said  thickly. 

I  eyed  him  coldly. 

"I  can  only  sing  it  with  a  Brother." 

To  my  disgust  he  stretched  out  a  very  dirty  hand, 
and  gave  me  the  grip! 

"Mew  Chapter,"  he  murmured. 

It  was  revolting.  That  it  should  be  Plock  of  all 
others! 

We  did  the  "Band  of  Brothers"  together— my 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      125 

oath  compelled  it — but  I  have  never  voiced  its  lov 
ing  sentiments  so  half-heartedly. 

Quiet  fell  at  last.  So  did  most  of  my  com 
panions.  One  by  one  they  toppled  over.  Whinney 
was  the  last  to  go.  It  is  said  that  the  loss  of  one 
function  strengthens  another  and  I  suppose  that 
the  absence  of  eyesight  gave  him  staying  power. 
But  he  finally  succumbed,  smiling  happily  and 
crooning  to  himself — "I  don't  no'  whish  is,  m'  I 
blin'-drunk  or  drunk-blin'  " ;  and  he  was  gone. 

My  last  memory  is  of  Frissell  saying  "my  next 
imitation"  and  then  playing  "taps"  on  a  mouth 
organ.  I  knew  the  impossibility  of  competing  with 
a  parlor  entertainer.  Nothing  will  quiet  such  chaps 
but  a  dead  audience.  So  I  rolled  over,  and  slept 
the  sleep  of  a  tired  but  happy  explorer. 


What  awakened  me  I  cannot  say,  but  I  am  sure 
that  it  was  something  unusual,  for  my  awakening 
was  not  gradual  or  difficult.  It  was  the  same  quick 
instant  leap  to  consciousness  as  that  which  rouses 
the  suburban  wife  when  she  leans  across  the  interim 
between  the  twin  beds  and  whispers  tensely  to  her 
husband,  "Horace,  someone  is  trying  to  get  into 
the  dining-room  window!" 


SOMETHING  NEW  IN  DRAMATICS 

A  happy  thought  in  the  formation  of  the  personnel  of  the  Expedi 
tion  was  the  inclusion  of  Frissell,  the  professional  entertainer,  who 
is  here  shown  playing  a  leading  part  in  the  amateur  theatricals 
which  it  was  his  delight  to  organize.  The  scene  chosen  for  illus 
tration  is  the  famous  shipping  episode  from  "The  Taming  of  the 
Shrew."  Reginald  Swank,  who  is  no  mean  dramatic  critic,  tells  us 
that  FrisselPs  "Petruchio"  was  a  spirited  performance,  while  Snak's 
"Katharine"  rivalled  Ada  Rehan  at  her  best.  The  nautical  back 
ground  added  a  novel  touch  to  the  somewhat  hackneyed  vehicle 
and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  Shakespeare  is  permanently  established 
among  the  Klinka  and  Kryptok  tribes. 

Not  content  with  the  success  of  this  production,  Frissell  plans  to 
bring  to  Broadway  a  newly  organized  company,  "The  Polar 
Players."  They  will  appear  in  repertoire  while  the  B  and  C  com 
panies  tour  the  provinces.  The  Winter  Garden  has  already  been 
engaged  for  the  venture,  Al  Jolson  obligingly  shifting  to  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  House.  Tickets  for  the  premiere  of  this  inter 
esting  novelty,  which  is  set  for  November  1st,  may  be  had  by  appli 
cation  to  any  of  the  well  known  speculators.  Mr.  Frissell  has 
already  shown  photographs  of  some  of  his  best  scenes  to  prominent 
professional  critics.  A  few  sample  opinions  may  be  of  interest. 

George  Jean  Nathan:   "Foreign  and  therefore  good." 

Heywood  Broun:  "Lacking  in  background;  we  like  it." 

Al  Woods:  "Niftik." 

Dorothy  Parker:  "I  hate  actors,  but  these  people  are  different." 

Frederick  O'Brien:  "Taupo  aloha  che." 

The  Literary  Digest:  "Better  than  the  average  and  more  average 
than  the  best." 

David  Belasco:  "All  to  the  spot-light." 

Bernard  Shaw:  "They  go  further  back  than  Methusaleh." 


Something  New  in  Dramatics 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      129 

I  suddenly  found  myself  sitting  bolt  upright, 
straining  rny  ears  through  the  lightness. 

What  was  it? 

What  uncanny  influence  had  snatched  me  bodily 
out  of  the  depths  of  stupor? 

All  about  me  lay  my  companions.  I  counted 
them  dazedly.  Triplett,  Sausalito,  Swank, — yes, 
they  were  all  there,  not  one  missing. 

"It  was  nothing"  I  thought,  and  stretched  my 
self,  preparatory  to  replacing  my  aching  head  in  its 
original  position. 

And  then  my  hair  literally  rose  on  that  same  head 
and  a  creeping  chill  crept  up  my  spine. 

Close  at  hand,  just  back  of  me,  rose  a  soft,  ex 
quisite,  purling  sound,  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
laughter!  Whirling  about  I  caught  a  fleeting 
glimpse  of  her. 

It  was  just  a  flash.  She  was  peering  over  the 
edge  of  the  cairn.  The  instant  my  eyes  met  hers  I 
knew  that  I  had  seen  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world! 

Leaping  silently  to  my  feet,  for  I  did  not  wish 
to  waken  my  comrades,  I  raced  toward  the  cairn. 
As  I  rounded  the  curve  I  heard  again  that  silvery 
laughter,  spiced,  I  thought,  with  a  note  of  mockery. 

"One  second,  my  beauty!"  I  muttered,  "and  I 


130      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

shall  have  you !"  Remember,  I  had  been  for  months 
in  the  solitudes.  My  blood  pounded  in  my  temples. 

Sweeping  gracefully  around  the  cairn  I  arrived 
on  the  opposite  side. 

Desolate  and  empty,  the  ice  bowl  curved  to  its 
rim. 

Not  a  living  soul  was  in  sight. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Fatal  procrastination.  Our  one-dimensional  po 
sition.  An  extraordinary  ornithological  display. 
I  confide  in  Swank.  His  plan.  I  capture 
my  vision.  The  Klinkas.  An  embarrassing 
incident. 


131 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  succeeding  days  were  occupied  with  the 
business  of  getting  settled.  Our  eight-day  clock 
recorded  July  7th  before  we  finally  got  down  to 
work.  By  throwing  up  a  waist-high  wall  around 
the  base  of  the  cairn  we  formed  a  circular  dugout 
into  which  we  moved  our  belongings,  a  man  to  each 
segment.  Already  the  weather  had  begun  to  mod 
erate  and  I  found  my  medium-longs  comfortable. 

Sections  of  our  camp  were  covered  with  tar 
paulins  and  of  course  we  had  the  Kawa  to  retire  to 
in  case  of  need.  A  passing  shower  warned  me  that 
the  short  Arctic  summer  was  waning  but  I  figured 
that  wre  had  ample  time  to  remain  at  least  three 
weeks  longer.  We  had  but  begun  our  scientific 
work,  our  food  supply  was  generously  sufficient, 
and  moreover,  my  men  had  come  a  long  way  and 
were  entitled  to  a  rest. 

Ah!  How  vainly  does  the  mind  of  man  delude 
itself  with  false  reasoning.  Back  in  my  brain  nib- 

133 


134      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

bled  the  maggot  of  curiosity.  Deep  in  my  man-be 
ing  the  age-old  impulse  lusted  for  a  sight  of  the 
mysterious  ice-maiden.  Like  the  old  viking  in  the 
Saga — "Moe  entilgig  sas,  moe  Tillig  as  var — "  * 
I  would  have  procrastinated  forever.  As  it  was  my 
delay  .  .  .  but  I  am  now  getting  south  of  myself. 

Speaking  of  "getting  south"  we  were  in  a  curious 
position,  one  previously  remarked  on,  but  which  has 
received  scant  attention.  I  refer  to  the  fact  that 
there  was  left  to  us  but  one  direction.  We  had  no 
where  to  go  but  south.  The  idea  seemed  so  fan 
tastic  that  I  verified  it  by  actual  test.  The  empiric 
is  after  all  the  only  actual,  as  Spencer  says.  Stand 
ing  close  together  four  of  us  were  able  to  touch 
the  Pole  with  our  backs.  At  a  signal  we  all  stepped 
forward  five  paces. 

We  had  all  gone  south  1 

And  yet,  Triplett  and  I  had  gone  in  exactly  op 
posite  directions:  so  had  Whinney  and  Wigmore 
who  were  assistants. 

There  are  some  things  that  are  beyond  the  mind 
of  man.  Whinney  said  that  it  was  very  simple.  He 
explained  that  since  it  was  already  possible,  in  a 


*  Literally.     "When  the  wine  of  his  love 
Is  the  grave  of  his  wit." 
See  "The  Song  of  Beer-wolf,"  trans,  by  Ola  Raraberg. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      135 

three  dimensional  world,  to  reduce  motion  to  one 
direction  (which  is  the  equivalent  of  one  dimension) 
he  was  sure  that  further  research  would  show  us  the 
way  to  arrive  at  a  point  in  which  there  would  be  no 
direction  at  all. 

"How  would  you  get  back?"  I  asked. 

Although  nonplussed  he  started  in  on  a  wordy 
explanation  in  the  midst  of  which  I  sneaked  softly 
away,  leaving  him  still  talking  under  the  impres 
sion  that  I  was  at  his  side. 

My  unfortunate  friend  had  taken  up  writing  to 
mitigate  his  black  loneliness  and  the  click  of  his 
typewriter  could  be  heard  at  any  time.  He  was 
writing  a  description  of  our  voyage  and  it  sur 
prised  me  to  see  how  much  clearer  and  more  inter 
esting  his  account  became  after  his  eyes  were 
stricken  and  he  was  obliged  to  rely  for  information 
on  what  was  told  him  rather  than  on  what  he  had 
seen.  It  has  long  been  a  theory  of  mine  that  too 
much  actual  experience  makes  a  man  inarticulate, 
while  the  reverse  is  stimulating  and  beneficial.*  A 
realization  of  the  devastating  dullness  of  most  polar 
accounts  has  further  confirmed  this  view. 

In  the  meantime  our  serious  work  was  progress- 

*  Puvis  de  Bloue  says,  in  his  "Voyages  Blageux"  (Flammarion  ed., 
1918)  "les  yeux  sont  1'enemie  de  la  verite." 


AFTER  THE  BATH 

No  libel  has  received  wider  acceptance  than  the  often  made  state 
ment  that  the  Eskimos  are  an  uncleanly  people.  It  is  true  that 
during  the  winter  season  the  skin  is  protected  by  frequent  applica 
tions  of  various  animal-oils  such  as  seal,  walrus,  otary,  sperm  and 
pemmican.  Only  thus  could  the  skin  be  protected  against  the  rigors 
of  the  Polar  winter.  The  usual  specification  employed  by  the 
Klinka  tribe  is  as  follows:  (1)  One  (1)  coat  of  otary  oil  thoroughly 
brushed  in.  When  this  has  dried  apply  (2)  one  (1)  coat  of  Makuik- 
mixture  (1/3  otary  to  2/3  whale,  sperm  or  equal),  applied 
hot  with  a  soft  tundra  sponge  or  seal-flipper;  (3)  two  (2)  coats 
grade  A  pemmican,  applied  separately;  (4)  finish  coat  of  walrus- 
oil  rubbed  to  a  high  polish.  Fastidious  individuals  frequently  add  a 
coat  of  guppy-wax  which  results  in  a  soft  lustrous  surface.  By 
this  method  the  entire  body  is  hermetically  sealed  (just  as  our  New 
England  forebears  used  to  seal  their  preserves  and  jams  with 
paraffin)  and  the  skin  is  kept  immaculately  clean. 

As  soon,  however,  as  the  Spring  sun  has  ameliorated  the  low  tem 
perature  the  native  feels  that  it  is  time  to  slough  his  oily  protec 
tion.  Nature  demands  that  his  pores  come  up  for  air.  This  is 
accomplished  by  exposure  to  the  sun's  rays.  The  wax  and  sub 
strata  rapidly  liquefy  and  are  easily  scraped-off  with  curved  bone 
knives  admirably  adapted  to  the  work  in  hand.  The  natives  assist 
each  other.  One  of  the  pleasantest  experiences  of  Dr.  Traprock 
and  his  men  was  that  of  watching  a  lovely  Klinka  scraping  an  ac 
quaintance,  aided  by  the  friendly  suggestions  of  her  companions. 

When  the  final  oil-coat  is  removed  and  all  pores  are  wide  open  the 
body  is  rolled  in  clean  snow  and  rubbed  vigorously  with  a  dried 
salmon-fin. 

The  adjacent  photograph  shows  little  Kopek  returning  in  his 
mother's  oomiak  after  his  Spring  scouring.  The  snowy  whiteness 
of  his  tender  skin  is  ample  proof  of  the  hygienic  wisdom  of  the 
Klinka  method. 

Note  the  iglootinous  character  of  the  background.  The  perforated 
mounds  are  really  hives,  the  winter  quarters  of  the  Poks  or  Arctic 
snow-bees  which  lay  blue  honey  in  large  quantities  from  June  to 
September. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSITIVE      139 

ing.  My  plan  was  to  keep  one  of  the  men  with  me, 
giving  the  others  freedom  to  pursue  their  respective 
lines  of  research.  This  made  it  possible  for  me  to 
be  at  home  most  of  the  time  and  so  not  miss  any 
recurrence  of  the  feminine  phenomenon  I  had 
noted. 

After  a  comfortable  breakfast  my  followers  de 
parted  in  various  directions,  each  carrying  his 
luncheon  which  Sausalito  put  up  for  him.  She,  by 
the  way,  had  become  the  uncrowned  queen  of  all 
hearts  and  I  felt  more  than  justified  in  having  ac- 
ceeded  to  Triplett's  sinful  wishes. 

Plock  found  it  difficult  to  make  any  headway 

with  his  anthropology  because  he  could  discover  no 

inhabitants.     Up  to  July  20th,  he  kept  entering 

I   regularly  in  his  journal:    "Density  of  population 

Lj/316  to  square  mile." 

"It  hardly  seems  enough,"  said  Frissell  brightly. 

Plock  gave  him  a  sour  look. 

"I  was  not  speaking  of  mental  density,"  he  said. 

In  zoology  he  was  more  successful,  though  he 
complained  bitterly  that  my  "no  hunting"  edict 
cramped  his  style. 

"You  can't  study  life  without  taking  it,"  he  said. 

I   thought  he  was  referring  to  the  magazine. 

"My  family  have  been  taking  it  since  Vol.  1,  No. 


140      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

1,"  I  retorted,  "and  you  know  perfectly  well  it  has 
always  been  anti-vivisection." 

"Who  said  anything  about  vivisection?"  he  de 
manded,  "though  for  that  matter,  that's  just  one 
of  Life's  kinks,  something  that  was  wished  on  'em 
in  a  will.  Let  me  kill  a  few  animals  first,  and  I'll 
cut  'em  up,  and  maybe  eat  'em  afterward!" 

He  licked  his  lips  greedily.  In  him,  too,  dormant 
appetites  were  stirring,  the  blood  thirst  of  the  tiger! 
Strange  irony,  that  he  should  be  the  first  to  go. 

Nevertheless  he  brought  in  some  interesting  live 
specimens  caught  with  ingenious  snares  and  traps, 
among  other  things  numerous  birds,  ptarmigan, 
pelican  and  pemmican  and  a  pair  of  polar  kittens, 
the  young  of  the  Felis-polaris,  those  quaint  cats 
which  always  point  toward  the  north.*  These 
charming  creatures  soon  became  our  pets  and  took 
avidly  to  the  condensed  milk  which  Sausalito  pre 
pared  for  them. 

The  pair  of  nesting  pemmican  who  had  pre 
empted  our  crow's  nest  were  a  source  of  constant 


*A  variant  of  the  always  interesting  skunk  family,  distinguished 
by  the  constant  orientation  of  its  physical  peculiarity.  It  is  per 
fectly  safe  to  capture  these  little  fellows  from  the  south.  The  Arctic 
type  has  been  found  as  far  south  as  Lake  Wayagamac. 

(See  "Among  the  Moufette."  J.  Pell,  Col.  Coll.,  N.Y.)  The  pair 
captured  by  Flock  had  been  nullified  by  the  usual  method.  Author. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      141 

interest.  Three  magnificent  eggs  about  the  size  of 
footballs  were  jealously  watched  day  and  night. 
Plock  informed  us  that  the  young  birds  might  hatch 
any  day  now  and  warned  us  to  be  ready  for  inter 
esting  developments.  Though  I  believed  him  I 
was  unprepared  for  anything  as  novel  as  what 
took  place. 

Fortunately  the  event  transpired  on  a  Sunday 
— July  23rd  to  be  exact — which  was  a  day  of  rest. 
We  had  just  finished  divine  service  when  Plock 
pointed  excitedly  toward  the  main  truck. 

"She's  going  to  hatch!"  he  yelled. 

The  mother  bird  had  risen  from  the  nest.  Be 
tween  her  powerful  legs  she  clutched  one  of  the 
perfect  ovates.  Circling  the  Kawa  three  times  she 
uttered  a  piercing  shriek  and  dropped  the  egg. 

"Key-ryste!"  ejaculated  Triplett. 

Plock  motioned  for  silence. 

The  egg  struck  the  floe  with  a  deep  boom  off 
our  weather  lee  and  a  dense  cloud  of  bright  orange 
smoke  filled  the  air  in  the  midst  of  which  we  saw 
the  fledgling  pemmican  in  full  flight,  rising  to  join 
its  mother.  The  male  or  bull  pemmican  now  added 
himself  to  the  party  and  together  they  made  off 
to  the  edge  of  the  ice  bowl  where  the  young  one 
alighted. 


142      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

"Stand  back,"  warned  Plock.    "Cover  up  your 


noses." 


The  saffron  laying  fumes  were  drifting  toward 
us,  and  their  odor  was  overpowering  and  indescrib 
able.  Even  as  I  crouched  behind  our  bulwarks  I 
thought  of  my  old  friend  Lucien  Sentent,  the  nasal 
gourmet  of  Battambang  and  wished  he  were  with 
us.  He  could  have  had  my  share! 

Three  times  this  curious  phenomenon  was  re 
peated  and  though  vastly  diverted  we  were  glad 
when  it  was  over. 

Along  other  lines,  Miskin  covered  a  large  num 
ber  of  cardboards  with  maps.  He  was  preparing 
a  folio,  "The  Pole  and  its  Environs,"  he  called  it. 
A  difficulty  was  that  of  locating  any  other  point  in 
relation  to  the  Pole.  Triplett's  science  could  go 
no  further  than  it  had. 

"Son,"  he  said  to  Miskin,  who  had  been  anxiously 
asking  which  direction  New  York  was.  "Son,  I 
kin  tell  yer  where  we  be,  but  not  where  we  ain't." 

So  Miskin  tried  the  effect  of  the  Pole  in  various 
positions  on  the  sheets  and  said  he  would  fill  in  the 
details  later. 

Swank  got  some  excellent  photographs  using 
Whinney's  camera,  some  of  which  are  reproduced 
with  this  book.  The  views  from  the  Pole  itself  were 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      143 

particularly  interesting,  but  his  best  results  were 
to  come  later. 

Wigmore  kept  adding  to  his  collection  of  snow 
crystals  and  alga?  which  he  packed  carefully  in 
cracked  ice,  while  Whinney,  even  in  his  darkened 
condition  found  it  possible  to  tinker  with  his  radio 
outfit.  Sloff  helped  him  rig  his  antennas  to  the 
Pole  itself  and  we  began  to  get  messages  with 
increasing  clarity. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  all  our  little  band  were 
busy  and  that  not  an  hour  was  wasted. 

But  deep  in  my  heart  lurked  a  determination  to 
see  again  my  lady  of  mystery.  As  the  days  length 
ened  to  weeks  without  my  having  made  any  prog 
ress  I  at  last  confided  in  Swank. 

He  was  incredulous  but  logical  and  infinitely 
woman-wise. 

"You  were  cuckoo,"  he  said.  "But  if  you 
weren't,  the  only  way  to  get  her  is  to  rouse  her 
curiosity.  Then  grab  her." 

"How?"  I  asked. 

He  pondered  a  moment  before  replying. 

"See  those  snow  men?" 

I  nodded.  Frissell  had  occupied  his  valuable 
time  carving  effigies  for  what  he  called  his  "Hall 
of  Ill-fame,  or  Northern  Musee  of  the  World's 


144      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

Worst  Worms." — Volstead,  Anderson,  Dr.  Pease, 
John  Roach  Straton,  Anthony  Comstock  and 
others.  While  I  deprecated  his  taste  I  had  no 
suspicion  how  thankful  I  should  be  for  its  results. 

"Here's  the  idea,"  Swank  continued.  "Get 
everybody  else  out  of  the  way  for  a  whole  day,  see  ? 
Then  plant  a  decoy  over  on  the  other  side  of  the 
cairn  where  you  saw  the  woman;  something  bright 
and  snappy  in  color." 

"My  old  hunting  coat!"  I  suggested. 

"Just  the  thing.  Then  you  and  I  creep  into  a 
couple  of  Frizzie's  masterpieces,  poke  out  their 
prune-stone  eyes  and  watch." 

"Swank!"  I  cried,  grasping  his  hand,  "y°u  are 
a  genius." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  modestly. 

"In  more  ways  than  one,"  he  conceded. 

The  plan  was  simple  of  execution.  My  only 
problem  was  Whinney,  Sausalito  and  Triplett  who 
commonly  stuck  around  home.  This  I  solved  by 
sending  Sausalito  off  for  a  day's  picnic  with  Whin 
ney  so  that  the  Captain  followed,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Since  Reginald  had  been  unable  to  see 
Sausalito  and  only  heard  her  vibrant  voice,  he  had 
become  dangerously  fond  of  her,  a  fact  which  Trip- 
lett's  one  eye  was  quick  to  notice.  They,  therefore, 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      145 

departed,  Sausalito  leading  Whinney  with  Triplett 
trailing.  The  others  had  gone  long  ago.  Swank 
and  I  at  once  began  our  preparations. 

Twenty  feet  from  the  foot  of  the  cairn  I  spread 
my  M.F.H.  coat  on  the  snow.  Its  vivid  scarlet 
with  the  Derby  brown  collar  and  turn-back  cuffs 
made  a  vivid  spot  amid  the  surrounding  whiteness. 
Swank  meanwhile  was  burrowing  into  the  back  of 
Dr.  Pease.  A  moment  later  I  was  enclosed  in 
Volstead,  a  disguise  which  I  had  never  thought  to 
assume.  The  air  was  suffocating  inside  and  to 
fortify  myself  I  nibbled  a  fragment  of  A-P  with 
ironic  appreciation  of  the  contrast  between  the 
outer  man  and  the  inner.  Swank,  not  to  be  out 
done,  solaced  himself  with  a  smoke  which  must 
surely  have  irked  the  cold  semblance  of  the  arch 
anti-cigarettist.  But  I  hissed  a  warning  and  the 
blue  smoke  spiral  ceased. 

From  then  on  we  waited.  The  time  was  inter 
minable.  It  was  probably  not  more  than  thirty 
minutes,  but  it  seemed  hours.  My  A-P  was 
exhausted  and  I  began  to  think  of  quitting. 

Then,  with  a  suddenness  that  nearly  caused  me 
to  fall  through  Volstead's  abdomen,  things  began 
to  happen.  I  glanced  at  Dr.  Pease ;  he  was  trem 
bling  slightly,  or  maybe  it  was  my  own  excitement. 


10 


DINNER  IS  SERVED 

The  closeness  of  primitive  man  to  the  abysmal  brute  is  strik 
ingly  illustrated  in  the  accompanying  photograph.  Makuik  at  meal 
time  must  surely  remind  the  reader  of  the  Bronx  Park  Zoo  at  that 
time  which  the  poet  beautifully  describes: 

"Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight, 
When   the  lions   release   their   lung-power, 
Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupation 
Which  is  known  as  the  feeding-hour." 

Eskimo  diet  varies  with  the  season.  During  the  long  winter  it 
consists  mainly  of  the  fatty  overcoats  worn  by  seal,  walrus  and 
otary.  Another  favorite  plate  is  made,  en  casserole,  with  alternate 
layers  of  whale-blubber  and  seal-flippers.  The  result  tastes  very 
much  like  stewed  tennis-shoes.  These  wobbly  dishes,  garnished  with 
seal-eyes,  are  served  on  squares  of  hide  and  are  scraped-up  with 
flippers  or  guppy-fms.  Both  hide  and  flipper  are  eaten  at  the  close 
of  the  meal  which  eliminates  the  tedious  dish-washing,  wiping  and 
putting-away  of  so-called  civilized  housekeeping.  These  blubber- 
ous  foods  supply  the  calories  (about  2000  to  the  square  inch)  neces 
sary  to  combat  the  absurd  temperature  of  the  winter  season. 

When  the  sun  re-appears  in  the  spring  and  the  song  of  the  first 
lapwing  is  heard,  the  Eskimo  begins  to  think  intently  of  raw  meat. 
"Ukuk  matok  tomatok"  he  mutters  to  himself.  "I  must  have  some 
vitamines." 

The  scent  of  a  bear  two  miles  to  windward  crazes  the  native  hunts 
man  and  speedily  sets  him  to  sharpening  his  spears  and  knives  to 
razor-keenness.  Yet  so  strict  is  his  observance  of  Kryptok  law 
that  when  a  kill  has  been  made  he  will  touch  no  morsel  until  the 
meat  has  been  divided  according  to  the  custom,  for  the  chief  the 
sirloins  and  porterhouses,  for  the  lesser  men  the  second  and  third 
joints  and  for  the  women  the  ribs,  rump,  neck  and  feet  or  whatever 
else  is  left. 

According  to  Makuik  bear's-meat  is  greatly  prized  because  of  its 
toughness.  It  is  considered  effeminate  to  eat  tender  meat.  The 
sound  of  an  Eskimo  meal  is  not  unlike  a  Red-Cross  bandage-tear 
ing  session. 

A  study  of  the  photograph  under  the  microscope  clearly  shows  the 
vitamines  winding  their  curiously  spiral  course  up  and  down  the 
meal. 

The  absence  of  table  manners  is  not  remarkable  when  one  con 
siders  the  absence  of  tables. 


Dinner  is  Served 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      149 

Swiftly  and  noiselessly  a  large  block  of  snow 
at  the  base  of  the  cairn  itself  moved  to  one  side 
disclosing  a  laughing  face,  the  same  lovely  coun 
tenance  upon  which  I  had  gazed  several  weeks 
before.  The  wearer  listened  for  a  full  minute  with 
bird-like  intentness,  then  leaped  lightly  out  and 
straightened  up,  a  long-limbed,  graceful  creature 
wearing  the  conventional  summer  furs  of  the 
Northern  Eskimo.  Her  hood  was  thrown  back 
showing  a  glimpse  of  entrancing  shoulder  but  what 
dazzled  me  most  were  the  starry  blue  eyes,  fair  skin 
and  wealth  of  molten,  golden  hair! 

Her  first  act  wras  to  circumnavigate  the  cairn 
which  she  did  with  the  same  silent  rapidity  that 
marked  her  every  motion.  She  then  made  directly 
for  the  lure,  bending  over  it,  touching  it  cautiously 
and  finally  raising  it  and  burying  her  face  in  its 
scarlet  folds,  while  her  laughs  rang  out  muffled  but 
intoxicating. 

This  was  my  chance! 

Bursting  through  my  prison  walls  I  rushed  to 
ward  her  while  Swank,  by  arrangement,  crashed 
out  of  Pease,  darted  to  the  entrance,  slid  the  block 
into  place  and  sat  on  it.  I  was  upon  her  before 
she  had  a  chance  to  move. 

"Akalok!"     I  cried    (the  Northern  dialect  for 


150      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

"friend"),  as  we  rolled  over  and  over  in  the  snow. 
My  old  football  training  stood  me  in  good  stead 
for  I  had  made  a  perfect  diving  tackle.  Inwardly 
blessing  the  name  of  Ted  Coy,  I  pinned  the  lithe, 
palpitating  body  to  the  snow,  repeating  more  ten 
derly  the  soft  appellation,  "Akalok,  Akalok" 

But  my  triumph  was  shortlived. 

For  the  first  time  her  lips  moved  and  from  be 
tween  them  burst  a  wild,  frantic  cry,  strangely 
familiar  to  my  ears. 

"Makuik!    Makuik !" 

At  the  repetition  I  heard  a  shriek  of  pain  from 
Swank  and  glanced  over  my  shoulder  in  time  to 
see  him  rise  in  the  air.  The  ice  block  was  shattered 
beneath  him  and  I  saw  an  ugly  stub  of  seal-spear, 
thrust  accurately  where  he  had  formerly  sat.  Di 
rectly  back  of  him  leaped  an  ape-like  figure  as  swart 
and  scowling  as  a  Japanese  war  mask.  He  carried 
a  terrific  weapon,  a  keen-edged  blubber  cutter,  with 
which  he  made  directly  at  me. 

At  ten  paces  I  recognized  him  but  too  late  to 
stop  the  impending  blow.  Firing  over  my  shoulder, 
a  tricky  shot  at  best,  I  shattered  the  bone  blade 
into  a  thousand  fragments,  at  the  same  instant 
jumping  to  my  feet  and  shouting— "Makuik! 
Tapok!" 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      151 

I  had  given  my  name,  "Tapok,"  the  Icelandic 
pronunciation,  and  at  the  sound  he  stopped  like  a 
man  shot. 

"Makuik!"  I  cried  again. 

His  ferocious  scowl  faded  through  stupefaction 
to  astonishment  and  gleeful  recognition. 

"Tapok!"  he  rumbled,  spreading  his  arms  wide. 
"Kata  pokok  Ikik  nakatokf 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  translate  his  remark  which 
was  highly  improper  and  referred  definitely  to  the 
woman,  Ikik,  who  stood  trembling  beside  us.  She 
had  raised  her  oomiak  and  now,  to  hide  her  blushes, 
folded  her  glorious  hair  across  her  face  so  that  she 
resembled  some  divine  being,  half  goddess,  half 
skye-terrier.  Back  of  the  screen  I  saw  her  blue 
eyes  shining  and  caught  a  suppressed  gurgle  of 
mirth.  All,  then,  was  not  lost. 

In  the  meantime  the  cairn  was  humming  like  a 
mighty  hive  while  through  a  re-opened  aperture 
crawled  other  individuals,  first  a  younger  Eskimo, 
a  mere  stripling,  followed  by  four  other  Eskimos, 
all  radiant  blondes.  One  of  them  carried  a  child, 
slung  over  her  shoulder  in  her  oomiak. 

At  a  command  from  Makuik,  Swank  was  helped 
to  his  feet,  the  spear  being  extracted  from  his  per 
son  by  Snak,  a  slender  maiden  with  a  mischievous 


152      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

smile  who  deftly  poulticed  the  wound  with  a  hand 
ful  of  snow. 

If  the  reader  is  astounded  at  the  sudden  turn 
of  events  he  can  imagine  my  feeling  when  my  eyes 
rested  on  Makuik,  mighty  hunter  of  the  Kryptok 
tribe,  whom  I  had  last  seen  twenty  years  ago  when 
we  had  fought  our  way  four  hundred  miles  across 
broken  ice  from  Ki,  an  uncharted  speck  north  of 
Iceland,  to  Archangel.  It  is  a  long  story.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  I  had  saved  his  life  twelve  times  dur 
ing  the  trip  while  he  had  done  nearly  as  well  by 
me.  We  had  sworn  eternal  blood-brotherhood  and 
the  word  of  an  Eskimo  is  as  good  as  his  bond;  bet 
ter,  in  fact. 

The  Kryptok  tongue  came  back  to  me  fluently 
and  I  quickly  assembled  the  family  group — for 
such  it  was — in  our  dugout  where  a  distribution 
of  A-P  and  such  small  presents  as  I  could  lay 
my  hands  on  transformed  what  had  been  two  hostile 
camps  into  one  joyous  assemblage. 

While  the  women  gurgled  their  satisfaction  over 
their  new  fly  swatters  and  empty  herring  boxes, 
vying  with  each  other  in  their  attempts  to  ease 
Swank's  pain,  Makuik  explained  the  situation. 

The  women  were  all  his  wives,  fruits  of  vic 
torious  battle.  They  were  of  the  Klinka  tribe,  per- 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      153 

feet  blondes,  as  I  have  noted.  The  young  man  was 
his  oldest  son  by  an  Iceland  mother. 

"Too  old.  I  eat.  No  good  wife  .  .  .  good  eat/' 
he  explained  frankly. 

The  infant  was  his  youngest.  There  would  be 
others.  His  party  had  been  caught  at  the  Pole  by 
an  unexpectedly  early  summer.  For  protection 
from  the  heat  they  had  taken  to  the  cairn,  there  to 
await  the  winter  freeze  which  would  make  travel 
comfortable  and  possible. 

"But  why  did  you  hide?"  I  asked. 

"Me  not  know,"  he  said,  smiling  craftily.  "You 
have  trees." 

"Trees?"  I  mused,  then  burst  out  laughing.  Of 
course!  He  referred  to  my  imperial  and  goatee, 
which  I  have  worn  since  my  service  in  the  Bodansky 
Zouaves,  and  which  he  had  never  seen! 

It  was  as  clear  as  day. 

Chuckling  with  delight,  the  old  warrior  showed 
me  over  their  living  quarters  while  I  mar 
velled  at  his  vigor,  preserved  in  this  world  of  ice. 
The  interior  of  the  cairn  was  astounding.  Instead 
of  entering  a  domed  chamber,  similar  to  the  many 
igloos  I  have  inhabited,  we  went  down,  down  for 
a  surprising  distance.  The  entire  habitation  was 
hewn  from  the  eternal  ice  to  depths  far  beyond  the 


154      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

reach  of  sun  or  storm.  It  was  a  three-room-and- 
bath  arrangement,  the  latter  consisting  of  a  trough, 
at  a  slightly  lower  level  than  the  main  floor,  filled 
with  lucent  seal  oil.  The  rooms  were  respectively, 
living-room  (which  also  served  as  kitchen  and  din 
ing-room),  bedroom,  simply  furnished  with  com 
munity  sleeping-bag,  etc.,  and  storeroom,  piled 
high  with  blubber,  fur-steaks,  walrus  eyes  and  other 
Eskimo  dainties.  The  temperature  was  slightly 
below  freezing,  a  delightful  change  from  the  pros 
trating  heat  we  had  been  enduring,  though  I  will 
confess  that  I  began  to  think  longingly  of  mittens 
and  bearskins  and  was  glad  when  we  once  more 
ascended  into  warmer  atmosphere. 

I  reached  the  surface  just  in  time  to  meet  the 
returning  members  of  my  party  who,  needless  to 
say,  were  faint  with  astonishment  at  the  change 
in  conditions. 

General  introductions  were  in  order  and  a  blithe 
evening  meal  was  soon  under  way.  But  how  differ 
ent  a  feast  from  the  man-made  orgy  that  had  dis 
graced  our  arrival.  How  completely  the  presence 
of  these  gentle  savage  women  had  altered  the  com 
plexion  of  our  enjoyment. 

Sprawling  about  Ikik  and  Snak,  and  the  other 
three,  Yalok,  Klikitok  and  Lapatok  (whose  babe 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      155 

had  been  placed  in  its  cold  storage  niche) ,  my  com 
panions  engaged  in  all  sorts  of  innocent  foolery. 
Though  they  spoke  not  a  word  of  each  other's 
language  a  subtle  understanding  had  sprung  up 
between  them.  Was  it  the  common  strain  of  Cau 
casian  blood  or  simple  sex  calling  to  even  simpler 
sex?  I  cannot  answer. 

Frissell  had  produced  a  lavish  supply  of  toys 
from  his  pack  which  made  an  enormous  hit.  Ikik 
had  a  colored  doll  which  she  nursed  affectingly. 
Lapatok  joyfully  wound  a  police  rattle,  while  Snak, 
Klikitok  and  Yalok  sucked  rubber  teething-rings 
with  evident  relish. 

Makuik  reserved  for  himself  a  monkey-on-a- 
stick  which  he  regarded  as  a  sceptre,  the  mechanism 
of  which  pleased  and  mystified  him. 

At  nine  o'clock  Whinney  announced  tri 
umphantly  that  his  radio  was  working.  He 
switched  it  on  and  we  listened  in  awe  while  a  far 
away  voice,  introduced  as  Miss  Anita  Scatchett  of 
the  New  Jersey  State  Normal  School,  told  a  Bed 
time  story,  "How  the  Animal  Crackers  Came 
Alive." 

I  say  "we  listened  in  awe."  I  must  amend  that 
statement.  For  a  few  moments  I  was  mildly 
impressed.  It  did  seem  odd  to  think  of  a  gentle 


A  FAR-OFF  FASHION-PLATE 

In  the  charming  scene  herewith  depicted,  Yalok,  the  beautiful 
Klinka  belle,  is  posing  as  if  she  were  a  mannequin  on  parade  in  some 
lovely  al  presco  fSte,  as  indeed  she  is.  The  background  in  itself  is 
interesting,  showing,  at  stage  right,  the  Tarpaulin  Tea-House  erected 
and  conducted  during  the  Summer  months  by  Herman  Swank,  Dr. 
Traprock's  artistic  fellow-voyager.  To  this  picturesque  chalet  the 
Eskimo  maidens  turned  with  womanly  instinct  and  its  accommo 
dations,  limited  to  two,  were  in  great  demand.  Mr.  Whinney,  when 
not  entertaining  a  personal  guest,  sat  outside.  But  these  intimate 
details  need  not  detain  us. 

The  principal  figure  is  Yalok  who,  for  the  purposes  of  photo 
graphy,  has  donned  the  very  latest  1922  Spring-model  sports-suit. 
She  wears,  it  will  be  noted,  "a  woman's  crowning  glory" — her  own 
hair.  The  other  glories  are  supplied  by  the  hair  of  various  animals 
indigenous  to  the  Arctic. 

Reading  from  North  to  South  this  snappy  get-up  consists  of  the 
otary  over-smock  or  slip-in  with  sliding  sleeves  of  unborn-seal,  the 
roomy  "roamers"  of  polar  bearskin  and  the  pliant  chassures.  The 
sleeves,  another  loose  seal  effect,  modestly  cover  the  entire  arm  or 
arms  and  flare  back  vehemently  from  the  gauntlets,  which  may  be 
eider-down  or  up.  The  roamers,  again,  cut  loose  from  conventional 
lines  and  melt  suavely  into  the  retroussee  wading  slippers.  The 
last  mentioned  articles  are  fashioned  from  the  pelt  of  the  Amok, 
which  usefully  grows  hair  on  both  sides  of  its  hide.  The  fore-and- 
aft  apron  or  windshield  is  nattily  edged  with  ermine  and  at  the 
back  runs  smartly  into  a  train.  A  last-minute  accessory  is  the  fly- 
swatter,  Dr.  Traprock's  gift  to  the  lady,  which  is  held  at  the  correct 
angle  of  45°. 

More  important,  however,  than  mere  costume  is  the  art  of  wearing 
it,  an  art  in  which  this  lovely  model  is  evidently  entirely  at  home. 
Her  position  is  that  demanded  of  a  debutante  in  the  most  exclusive 
Eskimo  society,  when  she  is  presented  to  a  distinguished  foreigner, 
the  head  modestly  bowed,  the  eyes  downcast,  the  arms  in  an  allur 
ing  come-and-get-me  position  and  the  feet  gracefully  parted  in  the 
middle. 

A  final  touch  of  chic  unreproduceable  by  photography  but  which 
has  all  the  allure  of  a  truly  Parisian  pomboire,  is  the  perfume 
(Eau  de  Muskox)  which  adds  its  ineffable  odor  to  this  arctic  rose, 
a  hovery  halo,  and  exquisite  ectoplasm. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      159 

spinster  in  Newark,  thousands  of  miles  away, 
speaking  to  these  children  of  nature.  But  as  far 
as  our  guests  were  concerned,  the  feature  was  a 
dud.  The  subject  matter  soon  began  to  bore  us 
all  and  we  shut  it  off,  to  Whinney's  disgust. 

A  few  moments  later  I  rose  with  a  start.  Some 
thing  in  the  air  chilled  me  with  horror.  Glancing 
toward  the  horizon  I  gasped,  then  quickly  caught 
myself. 

The  sun  was  half  hidden  below  the  horizon !  The 
light  was  distinctly  dim! 

I  thought  no  one  had  noticed  my  involuntary 
start,  but  Makuik,  though  seemingly  absorbed  in 
his  monkey,  leaned  toward  me  and  whispered, 
"Night  come." 

Night!  My  God!  It  had  stolen  upon  us  una 
ware.  We  would  be  caught,  trapped  in  the  deadly 
grip  of  the  North  King  who  had  claimed  so  many 
brave  men  before  us. 

The  darkened  atmosphere  suggested  but  one 
thought. 

"Bed,"  I  said.    "Sleep." 

My  oblivious  companions  took  it  as  a  signal  for 
dispersal.  They  rose  reluctantly.  Good-byes  were 
said.  Noses  were  rubbed  affectionately. 

Then  an  embarrassing  episode  took  place. 


160      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

Makuik,  who  had  marshalled  his  flock  before 
him,  suddenly  seized  the  lovely  Ikik  by  the  shoulder 
and  thrust  her  into  my  arms. 

"You  take,"  he  said,  smiling  broadly.  "Me 
give." 

Her  warm  body  pressed  against  me,  not  unwill 
ing.  It  is  the  Kryptok  custom,  as  usual  as  giving 
a  man  a  drink. 

Confused  and  inefficient,  I  stood  there.  But  my 
perplexity  was  shattered  by  another  surprise.  A 
compact,  wiry  form  hurled  itself  between  us.  It 
was  Sausalito,  her  face  livid  with  fury! 

"You  let  that  woman  be!"  she  shrieked,  panting, 
glaring. 

Makuik  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  pushed  the 
Eskimo  woman  roughly  toward  her  fellow  wives. 
Then,  turning,  he  glanced  contemptuously  at  Sau 
salito. 

"No  good  ....  you  eat."  He  leered,  swinging 
off  toward  his  sub-cellar. 

"Dog- face!"   screamed   Sausalito.     "Pig's-foot. 

5? 
•      •      • 

Triplett's  great  hammer  fist  struck  her  squarely 
on  the  jaw  and  she  sank  limp  in  his  arms. 

Late  that  night  I  lay  tossing  on  my  blankets, 
prey  to  a  thousand  conflicting  emotions,  fear,  joy, 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      161 

and  sickening  anxiety,  beneath  which,  like  the 
burden  of  a  refrain,  ran  the  overwhelming  thought : 
"She  loves  me.  Sausalito  loves  me.  What  shall 
I  do?" 

It  was  the  first  time  such  a  proposition  had  ever 
daunted  me. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Still  procrastinating.  Our  pastimes  at  the  Pole. 
An  exchange  of  love-tokens.  Ikik's  avowal. 
Caught  in  the  embrace  of  the  Aurora. 


108 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  longer  I  live  the  more  of  a  fatalist  I  become. 
Looking  back  on  the  weeks  which  followed  our 
meeting  with  Makuik  and  his  family  I  see  myself 
powerless  in  the  grip  of  a  force  superior  to  my 
own.  How  else  can  I  account  for  the  procrastina 
tion  which,  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  held 
me  in  my  perilous  location.  For  that  it  was  perilous 
my  brain  told  me  clearly. 

Seven  previous  trips  into  the  Arctic  had  taught 
me  that  its  climate  could  be  treacherous  as  wrell  as 
friendly.  If  I  have  seemed  to  expatiate  on  the 
tropical  warmth  of  an  exceptional  summer,  the 
hottest  on  record  in  the  meteorological  archives  of 
Iceland  (which  are  the  oldest  in  the  world),  rest 
assured  that  it  is  with  no  wish  to  encourage  ill- 
equipped  pleasure-parties  to  venture  forth  into 
these  icy  solitudes.  I  have  been  warned  by  an 
eminent  polar  authority  that  it  would  be  dangerous 
and  wrong  to  instill  this  idea.  I  thoroughly  agree 

165 


A  NIMROD   OF  THE   NORTH 

A  large  volume  might  be  written  about  this  illustration  alone. 

Big  game  hunting,  in  the  last  analysis,  is  usually  a  feeble  sort 
of  sport.  The  stalking  of  itself  is  a  beneficial  form  of  exercise  but 
when  at  last  the  two  strong  brutes,  human  and  animal,  stand  face 
to  face  it  is  an  odds-on  bet  on  the  human.  An  express-bullet  takes 
little  account  of  hide  or  hair.  Compared  with  this  form  of  target^ 
practice  fly-swatting  and  mosquito-slapping  are  gallantry  itself. 

We  may  learn  something  from  Makuik,  the  Kryptok  huntsman 
who  is  seen  en  face  in  the  act  of  capturing  part  of  his  winter's  meat- 
supply  in  the  person  of  a  magnificent  specimen  of  the  ursus  polaris. 
The  method  universally  employed  by  the  Eskimo  is  that  of  the 
surprise-onslaught.  Polar  bears,  for  some  reason,  do  not  expect  to 
be  attacked  by  men  from  the  air. 

Perched  on  a  rocky  eyrie  the  native  huntsman  warily  scans  the 
floe  for  his  victim.  The  path  beneath  the  precipice  is  baited  with 
small  cubes  of  seal  and  pemmican  meat  along  which  the  prey  is 
led  by  appetite  just  as  children  at  birthday  parties  are  led  through 
the  mazes  of  a  peanut-hunt.  When  the  bear  is  directly  below  him, 
the  hunter  springs  silently  into  the  air  and  descends  like  a  falling 
archangel  on  the  creature's  back.  A  hunter's  prowess  is  measured 
by  the  height  from  which  he  dares  to  jump.  Makuik  holds  the 
Kryptok  record  in  this  event  is  40  Kyaks  (approximately  520  ft.). 
At  the  termination  of  a  successful  jump  the  bear  breaks  the  fall 
and  the  fall  not  infrequently  breaks  the  bear.  But  the  risk  is  great 
and  in  case  of  a  miss  the  Nimrod  becomes  forthwith  data  for  the 
actuaries  and  food  for  the  bear.  As  in  all  aerial  feats  the  important 
part  is  the  landing. 

In  the  incident  portrayed  the  result  was  the  not  unusual  one  of 
a  glancing  blow.  Striking  the  bear's  shoulder  Makuik  was  thrown 
for  a  loss  of  seven  yards,  not,  however,  before  he  had  pinned  one 
of  the  bear's  paws  to  the  ice  with  his  keen-edged  ratak.  From  then 
on  the  fight  was  a  fierce  hand-to-paw  affair,  one  round  to  a  finish 
with  the  incessant  in-fighting,  knife  against  claw,  brain  against 
brain. 

Makuik  won  the  decision  after  forty-three  minutes  of  gruelling 
and  growling  work,  not  without  considerable  damage  to  his  person. 
Throughout  the  battle  he  consistently  placed  his  knife-thrusts  where 
they  could  later  be  made  into  buttonholes  by  his  beautiful  wives, 
beginning  at  the  lowest  button  and  working  upward  to  the  lapel. 
The  bear  was  thus  actually  tailored  during  the  process  of  destruc 
tion.  Forest  and  Stream  please  copy. 


A  Nimrod  of  the  North 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      169 

with  him.  Woe  betide  the  week-end  tripper  or 
basket-picnicker  who  fares  beyond  eighty-six  with 
no  protection  other  than  a  warm  sweater  and  a 
quart  thermos  of  coffee!  He  is  doomed  before  he 
starts  or  immediately  thereafter.  When  the  short 
summer  wanes  the  thermometer  plunges  without 
warning  to  incredible  depths  and  almost  certain 
disaster  results. 

And  yet,  knowing  these  things,  I  stayed.  Dis 
carding  all  plans,  scrapping  all  schedules,  denying 
all  reasons,  I  delayed,  lingered  and  waited.  For 
what?  Death,  perhaps,  but  before  death,  Love! 
Ah,  love!  love!  mad  will-o'-the-wisp,  flaming  with 
tragic  intensity  in  the  very  core  of  a  berg, 
destroying  passion,  paralyzing  my  will-power  even 
as  the  spirit  of  winter  laid  his  icy  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

My  companions,  fatally  influenced  by  my  ex 
ample,  were  no  longer  restless  but  completely  satis 
fied  with  their  surroundings  and  with  the  society  of 
the  Klinka  women  who,  as  the  light  waned  and  the 
temperature  dropped,  ventured  more  and  more  into 
the  open. 

Nowhere  in  the  world  will  one  find  such  gaiety, 
friendliness,  and  generosity  as  among  these  child 
like  denizens  of  the  North.  I  do  not  except  even 


170      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

the  glorious  Filbert  Islanders  who  were  my  own 
discovery.  During  many  a  long  twilight  I  sat  with 
Whinney,  Triplett  and  Swank  about  the  Primus 
stove  which  we  now  found  comfortable,  chatting  of 
our  Polynesian  friends  and  evoking  many  a  tender 
memory.  Of  all  who  made  that  famous  cruise  only 
our  former  crew  was  missing,  Thomas,  the  sailor- 
man  whom  we  left  behind.  But  I  could  not  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  envy  him.* 

Compared  with  northern  tribes  all  Polynesians 
are  slow  and  lethargic.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
swift  grace  of  these  glorious  Klinkas,  and  many  a 
day  of  rare  sport  we  had  while  there  was  still  light. 
Our  contribution  to  the  program  usually  consisted 
of  an  American  game  adapted  to  local  conditions: 
tennis,  using  the  native  snowshoes  for  rackets  and 
balls  of  inflated  fish-membrane,  or  golf  over  a 
sporty  nine-hole  course  with  constantly  shifting 
snow-bunkers  and  water-hazards.  This  variable 
quality  in  the  links  made  play  extremely  interest 
ing  and  likewise  supplied  a  much  needed  alibi  for 
our  scores.  Frissell's  inventiveness  created  extra- 

*  William  Henry  Thomas,  cook,  valet  and  foremast-hand  who 
refused  to  leave  the  Islands,  where  he  now  rules  with  the  title  of 
Filbert  the  First,  under  an  individual  mandate  conferred  by  the 
Paris  Conference.  See  "Cruise  of  the  Kawa,"  Chap.  9,  p.  133. 

W.  E.  T. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      171 

ordinary  good  clubs  out  of  parts  of  our  cooking 
utensils  lashed  to  whalebone  shafts,  with  which  it 
was  no  unusual  thing  to  drive  upwards  of  seven 
hundred  yards.  The  idea  is  covered  by  patents. 

To  my  amusement  Makuik  and  his  entire  family 
were  deathly  afraid  of  the  pogo-sticks.  In  their 
simple  minds  this  contrivance  was  endowed  with 
life  of  its  own.  When  I  finally  forced  one  on 
Ikik  she  planted  it  fervently  on  a  little  cairn  where 
it  was  worshipped  as  a  God.  How  strangely  the 
idea  of  the  totem-pole  persists!  And  speaking  of 
poles,  no  outdoor  sport  proved  more  popular  than 
tether-ball,  with  the  ball  tethered  to  the  Pole 
itself. 

The  Eskimos  were  far  from  lacking  in  amuse 
ments  of  their  own,  though  these  naturally  had  a 
direct  bearing  on  some  ulterior  object  such  as  blub 
ber  for  food-supply  or  furs  for  warmth.  It  has 
remained  for  the  superior  white  races  to  invent 
games  which  are  of  no  use  whatever. 

Time  and  again  Makuik  thrilled  us  by  his  long 
distance  harpooning  of  seals  which  now  sought  the 
floes  in  large  numbers. 

The  perfect  poise,  the  powerful  thrust,  the  long 
trajectory  and  the  final,  squashing  hit  just  behind 
the  ear  were  enough  to  excite  the  envy  of  an 


172      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

Olympic  javelin  thrower.*  The  feat  was  the  more 
remarkable  when  it  is  considered  that  a  seal's  ear 
is  on  the  inside  and,  therefore,  invisible. 

Some  of  the  novices  in  my  party  were  slightly 
overcome  by  the  mad  rush  of  Makuik's  family  to 
ward  the  stricken  carcass  from  which  they  tore  and 
devoured  long  strips  of  blubber,  but  needless  to 
say  this  was  an  old  story  to  me.  Fresh  seal's  eyes 
are  a  coveted  tid-bit,  and  I  was  much  touched  when 
Ikik  brought  me  one,  warm  and  quivering,  in  the 
palm  of  her  hand.  It  was  plainly  a  love  offering 
as  I  saw  when  I  looked  from  her  eyes  to  that  of 
the  seal.  One  should  chew  them,  not  gulp  them 
down,  in  order  to  get  the  full  flavor  which  is  not 
unlike  a  Cape  Cod  oyster,  though  more  salty  and 
slightly  oily. 

The  women  were  particularly  fond  of  leading 
us  on  searching  parties  in  quest  of  seal  roe,  which 
we  found  in  large  quantities  in  the  shallow  nests 
lined  with  the  yellow  wax  which  exudes  from  the 
pores  of  the  mother.  Both  roe  and  wax  are  highly 
prized  by  the  natives  who  spread  them,  mixed,  on 
squares  of  seal  hide,  forming  sandwiches.  In  win- 


*  For  an  interesting  account  of  Eskimo  games  see  the  essay  by  Dr. 
R.  Petersen.  "In  Lintinwinger  i  Kippenskabssel-skabet  i  Chris- 
tiania,"  delivered  April  3,  1920.  W.  E.  T. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      173 

ter  the  seal  fur  is  also  included  on  account  of  the 
extra  warmth  which  is  provided.* 

It  was  a  happy  thought  of  mine  to  present  Ikik 
with  an  enormous  church  candle  which,  having  been 
blessed,  had  been  presented  to  me  by  the  Bishop 
Metaxis  Polyphlosboios  in  Constantinople.  Ikik 
and  I  were  alone  when  I  offered  it,  in  return  for 
the  eye  she  had  given  me.  I  wish  my  readers  could 
have  seen  her  divine  smile  as  she  touched,  smelled 
and  finally  tasted  the  white  cylinder,  which  wras 
so  much  more  refined  than  the  fresh  fat  and  tallow 
which  had  been  daily  pabulum. 

"Tapok,  Ataki!  Traprock,  I  adore  you!"  she 
cried,  throwing  herself  at  my  feet  and  chewing  the 
uppers  of  my  moccasins,  the  native  expression  of 
complete  devotion. 

"Enough!"  I  murmured,  raising  her  by  her  hair; 
"here  come  the  others." 

Though  my  "affaire  de  cceur"  was  progressing 
satisfactorily,  I  was  forced  to  wralk  warily.  Some 
of  my  fellows  were  infernal  busy-bodies  and  Sau- 
salito,  poor  wretch,  watched  over  me  with  furious 
jealousy. 

Innumerable  were  the  diversions  of  those  happy, 

*  I  tried  to  eat  one  of  these  fur-bearing  sandwiches  in  1898  and 
nearly  died  laughing.  T. 


174      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

happy  days,  the  mad  pursuit  of  an  occasional  musk- 
ox,  of  which  the  women  were  insanely  fond  because 
of  the  perfume  derived  from  its  peripatetic  gland, 
and  the  absorbingly  interesting  observations  of  the 
Arctic  guppys,  those  unique  fish  which  bear  their 
live  and  full-formed  young  on  the  ice  without  the 
tedious  formality  of  laying  an  egg.  The  mother 
guppy  immediately  eats  her  offspring  and  the  race 
between  her  and  the  Eskimo  audience  to  see  which 
could  get  the  most,  was  not  the  least  amusing  phase 
of  this  quaint  accouchement. 

And  then  the  long,  twilight  evenings,  snuggled 
down  in  the  deep  furs  of  our  friends,  sharing  the 
warmth  of  our  tiny  Primus  under  the  Kawa's  lee, 
crooning  our  songs,  passing  our  plugs  and  our  gay 
banter.  I  feel  sure  than  I  shall  never  be  nearer 
heaven. 

On  an  immemorial  date,  for  our  watches  had  long 
ago  run  down,  we  sat  thus  in  our  little  Arctic  circle 
listening  languidly  to  a  number  on  Whinney's 
radio, — "What  the  Sunday  Schools  of  Kansas  are 
Doing,"  I  believe  it  was, — no;  "The  weather  a 
hundred  years  ago  today,"  that  was  it, — when  I 
suddenly  realized  that  it  was  dark;  not  twilight, 
but  actually  dark! 

Can  you  realize  what  that  meant  to  me?  Startled, 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      175 

I  withdrew  my  thumb  from  Ikik's  soft  lips  and 
raised  myself  on  my  elbow.  About  me  in  the 
gloom  were  vague  bundles,  Swank  and  Yalok,  Fris- 
sell  and  Snak,  Whinney  and  Lapatok,  Wigmore 
and  Klipitok,  Triplett  and  Sausalito,  silent,  rap 
turous,  oblivious.  But  a  strange  thing  was  hap 
pening. 

All  about  the  circumference  of  the  great  ice 
bowl,  of  which  we  were  the  center,  rose  trembling, 
blue  flames.  I  could  hear  their  fluttering  hiss  and 
crackle.  Now  they  leaped  higher,  shooting  out 
giant  arms  toward  the  zenith,  waving  lambent  fin 
gers,  shivering,  interlocking,  melting.  My  com 
panions,  aroused,  sat  up  and  I  could  see  their 
startled  faces  lighted  by  an  unearthly  light. 

The  noise  and  glare  increased.  Swishing  waves 
of  fuchsia-pink  swept  up  the  sky;  muffled  explo 
sions  were  followed  by  writhing  snakes  of  lemon- 
yellow  and  far-flung  globes  of  purple  and  crimson 
gleamed  in  the  sky  while,  directly  overhead,  mil 
lions  of  miles  away,  the  North  Star  looked  down 
indifferently. 

At  times  the  wall  of  encircling  flames,  now  ap 
proximately  ten  miles  high,  leaped  in  unison,  to  a 
diabolical  rhythm;  again  they  moved  about  us  in 
procession,  gigantic,  towering,  flapping,  hissing, 


AN  ARCH  ARCHEOLOGIST 

One  of  the  most  pathetic  figures  in  the  author's  startling  "expo 
sure"  is  that  of  Bartholomew  Dane,  the  Egyptologist  who  is  here 
shown  with  Snak,  his  Klinka  assistant,  pursuing  his  specialty  of 
comparative  archeology. 

A  word  as  to  Dane's  previous  record  may  bring  some  information 
to  the  few  Americans  who  have  not  made  archeology,  with  emphasis 
on  Egyptology,  a  hobby.  Born  of  Nordic  stock  (his  maternal 
grandmother  was  one  of  the  Iceland  Krakkens),  educated  in  the 
more-than-usually-common  schools  of  South  Bend,  young  Dane 
showed  early  aptitude  in  geography,  history  and  kindred  studies. 
His  passion  for  research  work  was  early  in  evidence,  his  every 
leisure  moment  being  spent  in  the  examination  of  abandoned  cellar- 
holes,  cisterns,  wells,  rubbish-heaps  and  public  dumps.  His  parents, 
fearful  lest  their  son  turn  out  to  be  a  rag-picker  secured  for  him 
an  under- janitorship  at  the  Natural  History  Museum  of  New  York 
City,  doubtless  hoping  to  thereby  shift  the  blame  for  his  develop 
ment  from  South  Bend  to  the  Metropolis.  From  then  on  his  rise 
was  rapid.  Working  his  way  up  from  the  cellar  we  next  hear  of  him 
as  Secretary  to  Prof.  Thurston  Mudgett  of  the  Extinct  Civiliza 
tions  Dept.  His  course  from  there  to  the  Nile  delta  was  clearly 
indicated. 

Six  months  later  the  young  archeologist  disappeared,  only  to  re 
appear  six  months  later  laden  with  honors  conferred  by  the  Egyp 
tian  government,  a  full-professor  in  the  College  of  Alexandria,  a 
recognized  authority  abroad  belatedly  received  with  equal  honors 
at  home.  His  great  work  on  Scarabs  among  the  Arabs  is  in  itself 
an  enduring  monument. 

What  led  Dane  northward  is  a  mystery.  That  he  hoped  to  find 
the  missing  link  in  the  almost  completed  itinerary  of  the  lost  tribes 
of  Israel  we  know.  That  he  failed  in  this  dream  is  a  sad  fact.  But 
there  is  solace  in  the  thought  that  amid  the  snowy  wildernesses  of 
the  Pole  he  found  in  the  companionship  of  the  sympathetic  Snak 
a  love  which  could  never  have  reached  him  over  the  hot  sands  of 
Sahara. 

Due  to  overwork,  exposure  and  an  unavoidable  blow  on  the  head, 
his  mind  has  failed  considerably  of  late  but  in  his  lucid  moments 
he  hints  darkly  at  having  made  certain  interesting  discoveries  which 
have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  archeology.  His  earlier  achieve 
ments,  his  protracted  sojourn  in  the  Tomb  of  Put,  his  discovery  of  the 
Temple  of  Murad,  all  these  he  lightly  dismisse>s.  "The  first  year 
was  the  pleasantest,"  he  laughs;  the  rest  is  silence,  and  the  silence  is, 
we  trust  for  this  courageous  spirit — rest. 


An  Arch  Archeologist 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      179 

whistling,  rippling,  a  night-mare  of  glorious  colors 
which  have  no  names.  The  very  ice  below  me, 
cracking  and  groaning,  was  shot  with  fiery  veins. 

The  Eskimos  had  buried  their  heads  in  their 
oomiaks,  my  companions  lay  face  downward. 

Desperately  frightened,  I  still  resolved  to  face 
the  end,  to  see  what  my  dazed  senses  told  me  was 
the  final  conflagration  of  the  world. 

Staggering  to  my  feet,  I  glared  about  me,  taking 
in  the  picture  with  all  its  ghastly  details,  the  Pole 
and  its  flags,  the  cairn,  the  Kawa,  every  block  and 
halyard  of  which  was  etched  on  this  field  of  flame. 
How  insignificant  it  all  seemed. 

The  world  had  finished  its  trick ;  it  was  as  a  tiny 
bead,  cast  away  by  the  Creator,  a  cinder  in  the  eye 
of  God! 

Suddenly  the  flames  turned  incandescently  white, 
rushed  toward  me  and,  on  an  overwhelming  wave 
of  siren  wailing,  I  was  swept  away,  billions  of  miles 
beyond  the  Pole-star,  to  Eternity.  .  .  . 


Ikik  was  rubbing  my  forehead  with  a  cool  tundra 
sponge  and  her  face  above  me  was  that  of  an 
angel. 

"Did  you  see?"  she  asked.    "It  was  beautiful." 


180      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

The     Eskimos    were    discussing    the    display 
critically. 

"Too  green,"  said  Makuik.     "No  good.     Cold 


come." 


Peering  through  the  darkness  I  saw  the  dim  out 
line  of  the  Kawa.  The  Pole  stood  intact.  Nothing 
was  harmed,  nothing  singed. 

The  astounding  truth  burst  upon  me,  astounding 
and  important  to  me  though  nothing  to  these  ages- 
old  Aryans. 

We  had  been  in  the  exact  center  of  the  aurora 
borealis. 

Another  milestone  for  American  science! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  Arctic  Night.  The  temptation  of  Traprock. 
The  pros  and  cons  of  falling.  We  solve  an  age- 
old  riddle.  Our  Polar  Christmas.  The  love- 
philtre.  Abandonment. 


181 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"Eighty-six  below,"  announced  Captain  Triplett 
the  next  morning,  "an'  a  fine,  starry  night." 

Old  Ezra  was  right.  Night  had  fallen  while  we 
slept.  The  long  Arctic  blackness  had  followed  our 
twilight  sleep,  and  we  were  now  in  the  grip  of  its 
intense  cold. 

How  strangely  fate  works  her  miracles!  But 
for  my  first  glimpse  of  Ikik  and  our  subsequent 
meeting,  we  should  inevitably  have  perished,  clad 
as  we  were  in  our  light  linen-mesh  and  flannels. 
But  the  Eskimos  had  foreseen  our  peril  and  sup 
plied  us  with  roomy  garments  from  their  own 
abundant  store.  No  gift  in  their  possession  was 
withheld  by  these  warm-hearted  people.  Gauntlets, 
socks,  boots  and  great  hooded  oomiaks  were  pressed 
upon  us  in  which,  as  soon  as  we  had  become  ac 
customed  to  their  overpowering  odor,  we  were 
extremely  comfortable  and  were  able  to  go  about 
during  the  less  severe  wreather  without  dan- 

183 


184      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

ger  of  being  frozen  unawares,  a  very  real  risk  for 
the  novice.* 

Makuik  was  insistent  that  both  parties  join  in 
sharing  the  protection  of  his  sub-surface  home. 

"My  meat,  yours.  .  .  .  my  woman,  yours.  .  .  , 
you  know." 

His  words  were  accompanied  by  the  Kryptok 
sign  of  blood-brotherhood  reserved  for  members 
of  the  clan.  Were  I  to  divulge  it  here  I  should 
some  day  feel  the  thrust  of  Makuik's  salmon-spear 
between  my  shoulder  blades.  It  was  a  dramatic 
feature  of  Kryptok  ritual  that  a  sin  against  blood 
brotherhood  may  only  be  washed  out  by  the  blood 
of  the  offending  brother. 

But  though  I  realized  the  closeness  of  the  tie 
which  bound  me  to  this  furry  friend,  though  every 
fibre  of  my  being  cried  out  to  accept  the  gift  which 
he  offered  so  gladly,  a  gift  which  meant  warmth, 
happiness,  love! — knowing  all  this,  I  was  firm  in 
my  refusal. 

In    the    face    of    a    temptation,    the    greatest 

*In  1906,  off  Trollebotn  in  Helgoland,  I  saw  an  inex 
perienced  Niblick  fisherman  overtaken  by  a  cold  snap.  He  nearly 
froze  to  death  as  he  was  endeavoring  to  reach  our  ship  (The  Prim 
rose)  his  motions  becoming  gradually  slower  until  he  finally  came 
to  a  standstill,  with  one  foot  raised  in  act  of  taking  a  step.  We  got 
him  aboard  with  nothing  more  serious  than  the  loss  of  one  arm  which 
broke  off  as  we  were  lifting  him  over  the  side. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      185 

perhaps  of  my  life,  I  resisted,  I  fought,  I 
struggled. 

My  reasons  were  many  and  complicated.  If  they 
were  right  or  not  I  do  not  know,  but  they  seemed 
so  at  the  time. 

To  begin  with  I  knew  in  my  heart  that  the  be 
ginning  of  close  clan  relations  with  these  magnifi 
cent  Klinkas  meant  the  end  of  the  Traprock  Ex 
pedition!  That  we  should  ever  again  return  to 
civilization  was  absolutely  unthinkable.  Here,  in 
this  winter  solitude,  I  saw  the  first  glimmerings  of 
the  truth  over  which  the  scientific  world  has  so  long 
puzzled.  Here  was  the  answer  to  the  old,  old, 
question,  "Why  do  explorers  leave  home?"  Why 
have  so  many  never  returned? 

They  have  been  absorbed  by,  and  eventually  into, 
one  of  these  magnificent  tribes.  They  have  disap 
peared,  or  if  they  have  found  their  way  back 
to  civilization,  having  proved  failures  in  their 
new  environment,  they  are  tongue-tied,  evasive, 
ashamed. 

If  I  accepted  Makuik's  hospitality,  in  full,  I 
saw  another  inevitable  result.  He  would  eventually 
have  to  die  at  my  hands.  There  is  room  in  a  small 
nomadic  tribe  for  but  one  leader,  one  "Kalok"  or 
"Strong  man."  This  is  the  ancient  law  of  evolu- 


THE  BATTLE  ON  THE  BRINK 

Students  of  the  text  of  this  volume  will  recall  that  a  distinct 
rivalry  existed  between  two  of  the  principal  characters,  Sausalito 
and  Ikik.  The  author  makes  what  to  us  seems  a  delicate  distinc 
tion  regarding  the  object  of  this  rivalry.  "It  was,"  he  says,  "not  so 
much  me  as  my  love."  There  is  something  almost  astral  in  this 
subdivision.  Be  that  as  it  may,  a  strong  feeling  of  competition 
existed  between  the  two  ladies  which  vented  itself  in  frequent 
passages  between  them  similar  to  that  illustrated. 

In  this  case  the  struggle  started,  as  usual,  in  the  most  friendly 
manner,  its  object  being  the  possession  of  a  stub  of  candle,  the  last 
of  the  great  dip  presented  to  Ikik  by  Dr.  Traprock.  Developing,  as 
such  things  do,  from  playful  wrestling  to  rough-house,  it  was  not 
long  before  the  Klinka  maiden  found  that  she  was  struggling  for 
her  life.  Sausalito's  experience  in  catch-as-catch-can  work,  gained 
up  and  down  the  Barbary  coast,  was  an  equal  match  for  the  supple 
strength  of  her  adversary  and  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  result 
would  have  been  fatal  to  one  or  both  participants  had  it  not  been 
for  the  timely  intervention  of  Makuik  who,  seeing  how  things  were 
going  and  fearing  possible  damage  to  one  of  his  favorite  wives, 
kicked  over  the  icy  stage  upon  which  the  drama  was  being  enacted, 
at  the  same  instant  throwing  the  carcass  of  a  bull-seal  where  it 
would  intercept  the  fall  of  the  contestants.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
skill  of  Makuik  in  throwing  the  bull  we  can  well  imagine  what 
would  have  happened.  The  animal  weighed  220  poks  or  "meals," 
that  is,  approximately  2200  Ibs.,  a  "meal"  being  reckoned  as  10  Ibs. 
of  any  form  of  food-supply. 

After  the  fall  described  above  a  temporary  truce  was  patched  up 
bmt  the  feeling  of  rivalry  remained  acute.  As  the  philosophical 
author  observes,  "Being  in  love  with  two  women  is  one  thing:  being 
loved  by  them  is  another." 


The  Battle  on  the  Brink 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      189 

tion.  Bound  as  I  was  to  Makuik  I  hesitated  to 
take  the  first  step  which  spelt  his  doom. 

A  final  consideration,  though  not  one  which  bore 
much  weight,  was  that  there  were  not  enough  Klin- 
kas  to  go  round.  I  have,  perhaps,  indicated  in  my 
previous  chapter,  that  the  process  of  natural  selec 
tion,  though  far  from  home,  had  not  ceased  to 
operate.  The  Klinka  women,  while  filled  with  joy 
ous  camaraderie,  clearly  had  their  favorites  and  the 
pairing  which  I  noted  most  often  was  that  of  Swank 
and  Yalok,  Frissell  and  Snak,  and  Whinney  and 
Lap  at  ok. 

Frissell  amused  Snak  immensely  with  his  out 
landish  noises  and  imitations,  and  Lapatok,  who 
stayed  near  the  cairn  more  than  the  others  in  order 
to  care  for  little  Kopek,  her  boy,  found  in  the  now 
helpless  Whinney  another  child  upon  whom  to  lav 
ish  her  affection. 

Makuik  smiled  tolerantly  at  these  innocent  rela 
tions.  The  women  were  his,  when  all  was  said,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  that  had  the  faintest  wave  of  jeal 
ousy  stirred  his  primitive  heart  he  would  have 
calmed  it  by  the  old  tribal  method  of  holding  the 
offender  under  water  for  the  few  seconds  necessary 
to  allow  the  ice-opening  to  freeze  over. 

Unfortunately  the  other  members  of  the  expedi- 


190      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

tion  did  not  accept  the  situation  so  calmly.  Plock, 
Miskin  and  Sloff  were  by  no  means  satisfied  with 
an  arrangement  which  so  plainly  left  them  out  of 
it.  Dane  was  not,  by  nature  a  ladies'  man,  though 
he  took  the  color  of  the  others'  mental  attitude. 
On  numerous  occasions  I  was  forced  to  intervene 
when  a  sudden  minor  crisis  developed.  Miskin  took 
umbrage  because  Snak  gave  Frissell  the  largest 
piece  of  blubber,  or  some  other  torn-foolery,  and 
before  one  could  stop  it  the  air  was  hot  with  sup 
pressed  antipathy. 

This  state  of  affairs  frankly  worried  me  and  I 
was  not  anxious  to  make  it  worse  by  accentuating 
it  in  the  intimacies  which  were  bound  to  develop 
in  Makuik's  igloo. 

I  therefore  issued  the  strictest  orders  that  all  my 
men  should  bunk  on  the  Kawa,  a  regulation  which 
I  forced  myself  to  adhere  to  in  spite  of  the  most 
terrific  temptations.  We  had  completely  over 
hauled  our  running  gear  during  the  warm  weather 
and  now  found  that  by  running  the  Tutbury  at 
quarter  speed,  thus  charging  the  batteries,  we  were 
able  to  generate  just  the  right  amount  of  heat 
required  to  keep  us  comfortable. 

We  soon  adapted  ourselves  to  our  new  mode 
of  life.  All  outside  thermometers  were  hung  up- 


MY  XORTHERX  EXPOSURE       191 

side  down  in  order  to  read  properly  and  whenever 
the  temperature  was  above  forty  below  we  sallied 
forth  into  the  night,  on  pleasure  or  profit  bent. 

An  early  inspection  was  made  by  Miskin,  Sloff 
and  myself  of  the  rim  of  the  ice  bowl,  immediately 
following  the  stupendous  display  of  the  aurora 
borealis,  which  had  ushered  in  the  winter.  Makuik 
accompanied  us  and  it  was  from  the  naive  com 
ments  of  this  child  of  the  north  that  we  arrived  at 
a  solution  of  a  large  part  of  the  problems  in  con 
nection  with  this  phenomenon. 

As  we  travelled  about  the  circumference  of  the 
bowl  I  was  at  once  struck  by  a  deep  trench  or  moat 
which  followed  its  outline.  The  sides  of  this  moat, 
which  averaged  approximately  200  yards  in  width, 
were  glazed  with  freshly  formed  ice  which  appeared 
at  first  to  be  black  in  color.  A  closer  inspection 
showed  that  this  color  was  derived  from  a  sub -sur 
face  stratum  of  finely  powdered  carboniferous 
deposit  similar  to  coal  or  cinders.  At  no  place 
were  we  able  to  reach  this  deposit  owing  to  the 
shortness  of  our  ice  picks,  but  both  Miskin  and 
Sloff  agreed  that  the  buried  material  was  clearly  a 
metallic  slag  which  had  been  subjected  to  extreme 
heat. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Makuik  injected  his 


192      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

interesting  personality  into  our  deliberations.  Ob 
serving  our  puzzled  looks  he  stooped  and  gathered 
up  a  handful  of  loose  snow  crystals  which  he 
thrust  into  his  mouth,  at  once  expelling  them  with 
a  mighty  gust  of  breath.  Then  he  clapped  his 
stomach  and  said — 

"Ice  .  .  .  sick  ...  so  ...  pouf !"  another  great 
blast. 

My  mind  flashed  back  instantly  to  the  claims  of 
an  old  scientist  of  whom  I  had  heard  my  friend 
Waxman  speak,  one  John  Cleves  Symmes.  As 
far  back  as  1819  Symmes  had  advanced  the  theory 
that  the  earth  was  hollow.  His  exact  statement 
reads  "the  earth  is  hollow  and  habitable  within, 
being  composed  of  a  number  of  solid,  concentric 
spheres."  Unfortunately  Symmes  was  unable  to 
travel  further  north  than  the  site  of  what  is  now 
Racine,  Wis.,*  so  that  his  theory  remained  only  a 
theory  and  he  was  eventually  laughed  out  of  court. 

Now,  over  a  century  later,  I  was  to  verify  a  part 
of  his  suspicion.  That  the  earth  was  hollow  we 
could  not  doubt.  Subsequent  excavations  in  the 
great  polar  ditch  confirmed  what  we  had  begun 

*  The  Case  Harvester  Co.  has  meritoriously  placed  a  monu 
ment  to  Symmes  on  the  front  lawn  of  its  subsidiary  plant,  The  Belle 
Terre  Mfg.  Co.  The  monument  consists  of  a  large  hollow  ball  of 
local  granite.  Keys  at  res.  of  John  Reid,  Jr.,  Caretaker. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE       193 

to  realize.  The  entire  section  of  earth  crust  at  this 
end  of  the  axis  was  loose!  Deep  in  the  bowels  of 
Mother  Earth  still  burned  the  terrific  primal 
fires,  occasionally  venting  themselves  in  some  such 
upheaval  as  we  had  witnessed.  Whinney  later  cor 
roborated  the  findings  of  Sloff  and  Miskin  regard 
ing  excavated  specimens  of  the  slag,  namely,  that 
they  were  composed  of  rhyolite  rocks,  pulverized 
lime  and  other  building  materials  plainly  produced 
by  volcanism.  The  ceaseless  whirl  of  the  earth  on 
its  axis  naturally  throws  these  expanding  substances 
toward  the  Pole  until  the  bung,  or  world  stopper, 
is  loosened.  As  soon  as  the  terrific  pressure  is 
relieved  the  ice  cap  sinks  back  and  the  melted  snow 
at  once  seals  the  circular  fissure. 

It  is  the  discovery  of  such  long-sought  truths 
as  this  which  more  than  repays  me  for  the  hard 
ships  involved.  As  I  pen  these  lines  I  can  but 
bow  my  head  in  humble  thankfulness  to  Him  who 
knew  too  well  to  fashion  this  Earth  without  a 
safety  valve. 

The  exact  date  of  this  and  other  discoveries  is 
indeterminate.  Since  the  stopping  of  our  chro 
nometers  we  had  gone  mainly  by  guesswork.  I 
was  fully  aware,  from  the  advent  of  the  polar  night, 
that  time  had  slipped  on  to  approximately  Sep- 


194      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

tember  20th.  Knowing  our  exact  position  (Lat. 
90°,  Long.  0)  it  was  a  simple  matter  for  Triplett 
to  re-establish  a  definite  day  schedule  by  the  theo 
dolite-hygrometer  method  combined  with  astron 
omy.  The  weather  was  now  clear  and  excellent 
views  of  the  stars  were  obtainable  from  any  given 
point.  Altair,  Vega  and  Betelgeuse  were  particu 
larly  visible,  but  Triplett's  favorite  constellation 
was  the  Dipper,  the  handle  of  which  he  usually 
triangulated  with  Cygnus  and  ourselves.  Three 
successive  observations  gave  Saturday,  September 
28th  as  the  correct  answer  and  I  forthwith  posted 
notices  of  this  fact,  which  was  celebrated  by  a  joint 
feast. 

Night,  it  is  said,  is  the  time  for  reflection  and  I 
now  had  ample  opportunity  for  this  exercise.  Un 
fortunately  for  the  philosophic  calm  which  might 
have  resulted  from  thought,  Ikik,  my  lovely  north 
ern  sweetheart,  had  other  ideas  as  to  the  proper 
disposal  of  the  nocturnal  hours.  The  glances  which 
she  levelled  at  me  across  the  Primus  were,  to  say 
the  least,  importunate.  Little  by  little  I  felt  my 
icy  resolution  thawing  beneath  her  tropic  influence. 

It  was  an  odd  situation.  About  me  the  wastes 
of  berg  and  floe,  the  mercury  skulking  in  the  base 
ment  of  the  thermometer,  while  in  my  heart  burned 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      195 

an  increasing  glow  that  would  not  be  extinguished. 
Yet  I  fought  on,  a  St.  Anthony  of  the  North. 

Christmas  came,  as  it  will  even  in  this  distant 
clime.  The  event  was  marked  by  a  general  celebra 
tion.  As  I  went  about  the  preparations  for  the 
feast  I  little  realized  how  tragically  the  date  was 
to  stand  out  in  my  memory. 

Morning  dawned  dark  and  clear.  We  used  the 
Pole  for  our  tree,  having  fashioned  branches  of 
oars,  pogo-sticks  and  other  suitable  materials.  Dur 
ing  what  would  have  been  the  fore-noon  we  groped 
our  way  to  the  edge  of  the  ice  bowl,  in  groups  of 
two  or  three.  I  was  in  one  of  the  groups  of  two. 
The  other  half  was  Ikik. 

Sitting  in  silence  on  the  edge  of  the  earth  crater, 
I  mused  sadly.  How  wonderful,  I  thought,  if  the 
great  safety  valve  would  but  open  and  bear  my 
love  and  me  away  in  its  flaming  arms.  But  the 
conflagration  was  to  be  of  a  more  human  and 
dangerous  character. 

"See,"  whispered  the  maiden.  "I  have  brought 
my  present  for  you."  How  like  her  it  was,  to  steal 
away  from  the  others  for  this  sacred  presentation. 
I  peered  at  the  object  in  her  hand.  It  was  a  small 
sack  of  translucent  fish  membrane  filled  with  a 
viscous  liquid. 


ODE  TO  THE  AURORA 

No  more  poignant  moment  in  the  history  of  American  literature 
has  ever  been  recorded  by  the  camera  than  that  shown  with  this 
text  which  portrays  Whinney,  the  poet-scientist,  in  the  very  act  of 
creating  his  immortal  poem  "Ode  to  Aurora,"  which  John  Farrar, 
the  veteran  critic,  pronounces  "the  best  classic  ode  ever  written  north 
of  the  arctic  circle." 

As  a  poet  Whinney  resembles  Milton,  in  that  he  is  blind.  Though 
this  was  only  a  temporary  affliction, — snow-blindness, — its  immediate 
effects  were  heartrendingly  pathetic.  Not  only  did  the  unfortunate 
traveller  miss  seeing  the  Pole  and  the  polar  fireworks  but  he  was 
also  forced  to  master  the  most  difficult  of  all  literary  exercises,  that 
of  operating  a  typewriter  with  mittens  on.  The  ancient  pastime  of 
catching  a  flea  while  wearing  boxing-gloves  is  child's-play  compared 
with  this  achievement.  Hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  the  per 
sistent  poet  practised  his  sightless-touch  system. 

"What  does  it  look  like?"  he  would  ask,  submitting  a  page  to 
Sausalito  who  had  good-naturedly  assumed  the  duties  of  nursing- 
secretary. 

"Nothing,"  would  be  the  invariable  reply. 

But  with  dogged  perseverance  Whinney  struggled  on,  gaining  a 
comma  here,  and  a  colon  there,  until  he  had  mastered  his  instrument. 
The  result  all  the  world  knows,— those  deathless  lines  beginning: 

"O  Aurora! 

Not  only  East,  but  North  as  well, 
And  West!  and  South! 
Th'  extraordinary  tidings  tell ! 
Flash  thy  bright  beams 
And  wave  /thy  lambent  paws, 
Clap  thou  thy  rays 
In  luminous  applause." 

For  sheer  glory  of  color  the  description  of  the  aurora  which 
forms  the  main  part  of  the  ode  has  never  been  equalled.  And  then 
the  solemn  close,  touching  in  its  modesty. 

"Tell    thou    the    world, 
That  it  remember  shall 
The  names  of  Traprock! 
Whinney!  Swank!  et  al." 

Since  returning  to  this  country  Mr.  Whinney  has  taken  out  a 
regular  poet's  licence  and  is  now  turning  out  verse  of  the  very 
highest  standard. 


Ode  to  the  Aurora 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE       199 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  tenderly. 

I  could  feel  her  flush  against  my  cheek. 

"Walrus  tears." 

"Walrus  tears?"  Ah,  yes,  I  remembered.  Years 
ago  an  old  woman  in  Bjarkoi  had  told  me  that 
the  tears  of  a  male  walrus  if  caught  fresh,  were  an 
infallible  love  potion.* 

"Like  Tristan  and  Isolde,"  I  murmured.  She 
shook  her  head,  uncomprehendingly. 

"Drink!"  she  whispered. 

Smiling  at  the  superstition,  yet  unwilling,  unable, 
in  fact,  to  resist  the  pleading  look  in  her  eyes,  I 
loosed  the  thong  and  placed  the  sack  to  my  lips. 

The  next  instant  she  was  in  my  arms! 

My  brain  reeled.  The  stars  danced  dizzily  over 
head  and  were  then  blotted  out.  A  moment  later  I 
became  aware  of  a  ludicrous  and  embarrassing 
circumstance.  Locked  in  each  other's  embrace  we 
were  sliding  down  the  icy  incline  of  the  bowl! 

We  struck  fairly  in  the  midst  of  a  group  com 
posed  of  Triplett,  Makuik  and  several  others  who 

*The  Walrus's  habit  of  weeping  when  one  of  their  number 
is  captured  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic  sights  in  the  world.  I  once 
caught  a  small  calf  in  the  Greely  Straits  and  was  immediately  sur 
rounded  by  the  herd  which  burst  into  tears  as  they  rose  about  me. 
An  old  bull,  who  had  hooked  his  tusks  over  the  gunwhale,  cried  so 
copiously  that  my  kayak  was  half  full  of  tears  which,  being  ignorant 
of  their  value,  I  foolishly  gave  to  the  natives. 


200      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

greeted  our  arrival  with  roars  of  laughter;  surely  a 
strange  ending  to  a  "crise  d'amour." 

At  four-thirty  we  lighted  our  tree  and  had  carols, 
presents  and  general  dancing.  At  six  the  feast  was 
served,  the  heaping  ice  slabs  being  placed  along  the 
counter  of  the  Kawa  which  was  decked  with  her 
full  suit  of  colors  and  all  her  extra  riding-lights. 
Pemmican,  blubber-steak,  seal-  and  walrus-eyes, 
hide-salad  and  guppy-croquettes  were  supple 
mented  from  our  waning  stores  of  biscuit,  herring, 
ham,  candles  and  A-P.  Even  little  Kopek  was  not 
denied  a  place  and  sat  near  his  mother  sipping  a 
soap  stone  cup  of  modified  whale's  milk. 

Swank  had  compounded  a  new  drink  for  the 
occasion  which  he  called  "Traprock  tea,"  consist 
ing  of  A-P  shavings  dissolved  in  salad  oil  with  a 
number  of  live  guppys  flapping  about  on  the  sur 
face,  "to  give  it  animation"  as  the  inventor  ex 
plained. 

The  animation  was  certainly  not  lacking  and  the 
fun  waxed  fast  and  furious. 

At  an  earlier  date,  late  in  November,  an  all  night 
poker  game  had  been  instituted  by  Wigmore,  with 
whom  this  sport  was  a  ruling  passion.  Warned  by 
me,  the  participants  had  signed  an  agreement  to 
quit  promptly  on  the  15th  of  March,  in  order  to 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      201 

avoid  the  bickering  which  might  be  expected  when 
some  loser  inevitably  insisted  that  they  play  "just 
a  week"  or  a  "month  more."  The  gaming  element 
now  drifted  away,  one  by  one,  toward  the  table 
in  the  Kawa's  cabin.  Most  of  the  others  had  also 
withdrawn  into  the  obscurity.  Little  Kopek  had 
long  ago  been  put  to  bed.  Makuik,  I  regret  to 
say,  was  helpless. 

It  was  then  that  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  the 
absence  from  my  side  of  Ikik.  She  had  stolen  off, 
unobserved.  Rising,  I  lurched  steadily  around  the 
cairn.  My  head  was  aching,  my  heart  full  of 
unspeakable  longing  and  sorrow.  Was  it  the 
Traprock  tea  or  the  love  philter?  Probably  both. 

Resolutely  turning  my  back  on  the  camp  I 
walked  to  the  far  edge  of  the  ice  bowl  where  I  sat 
down.  One  by  one  the  lights  of  the  celebration 
flickered  and  went  out.  I  heard  the  card  players 
shouting  their  maudlin  good-nights  to  each  other. 
Once  a  voice  shouted  "Traprock!"  and,  following 
a  remark  I  could  not  catch,  came  a  burst  of  coarse 
laughter.  Then  all  was  silence. 

An  hour  later  I  arose  with  a  slight  shiver;  it 
was  38  below.  Though  my  hands  and  feet  were 
numb,  in  my  veins  throbbed  liquid  fire.  Remorse 
gnawed  at  my  heart.  What  had  I  said  to  Ikik  that 


202      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

had  turned  her  from  me  on  this,  of  all  nights,  our 
first  Christmas  together? 

Reaching  the  side  of  the  Kawa,  where  all  lay 
plunged  in  slumbers  a  sudden  thrilling  resolution 
flooded  over  me.  I  must  see  her! 

I  must  whisper  a  tender  good-night  to  the  one 
who  had  grown  to  mean  more  to  me  than  all  the 
rest  of  the  world. 

Turning  abruptly,  my  brain  reeling,  I  made 
directly  for  the  entrance  to  the  igloo. 

The  door-block  slid  back  noiselessly.  A  moment 
later  I  stood  in  the  low  room,  hesitant.  The  single 
tundra  wick  gave  a  dim  light  through  which  I  saw 
Makuik's  beady  eyes  fixed  on  me.  With  a  sweep 
ing  gesture  he  indicated  a  vacant  space  in  the  line 
of  deep  breathing  figures.  Then  he  too  sank  back 
and  instantly  began  snoring. 

With  infinite  care  I  crept  over  the  human 
mounds  until  I  sank  into  the  space  Makuik  had 
pointed  out. 

Touching  the  figure  next  me  I  whispered  in  the 
lowest  of  tones. 

"Dear  one,  I  have  come  to  say  good-night." 

She  turned  toward  me,  her  face  shadowed  in  her 
oomiak,  soft  arms  twined  stealthily  about  me  as  a 
vibrant  voice  murmured  "Walter!" 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      203 

I  bounded  to  my  feet  with  a  cry  of  dismay  that 
caused  the  sleepers  to  stir  uneasily. 

The  woman  followed  me  as  I  hurdled  my  way  to 
the  stairway.  In  the  entrance  I  glanced  back  for 
a  second  on  a  face  livid  with  passion. 

It  was  the  face  of  Sausalito! 


CHAPTER  IX 

Sauscdito's  strategy.  Orders  must  be  obeyed.  We 
turn  southward.  The  parting.  Mutiny  and 
desertion.  In  the  grip  of  the  Ice  King.  A 
fight  to  the  finish.  Victory. 


£05 


CHAPTER  IX 

She  came  directly  to  me  in  the  morning.  Sleep 
had  calmed  her  somewhat.  She  was  cool,  but 
determined.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  packet  of 
papers,  sealed  with  the  seal  of  the  E.U. 

"Your  orders,"  she  said  briefly  and  turned  to 
leave  the  cabin. 

"One  moment,"  I  said.  "You  others,  kindly 
leave  us.  Sausalito,  remain." 

She  sat  down  limply. 

Plock  grinned  malevolently  as  he  thumped  up 
the  companion-way.  He  knew  what  wTas  coming, 
the  blackguard. 

As  I  took  the  packet  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  the 
seal  had  been  broken  and  clumsily  repaired. 

Walking  to  the  hatchway  I  closed  it. 

"Where  did  you  get  these?" 

"I  f — f — found  them,"  she  stammered. 

"Sausalito,"  I  said  gently,  "you  lie." 

My  tenderness  disarmed  her.    Throwing  herself 

207 


A  MOMENT  MUSICAL 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Triplett  and  Traprock  were  amused  by 
the  reaction  of  Yalok,  the  Klinka  maiden,  to  the  miracle  of  the 
radio.  The  author  tells  us  that  the  "morceau,"  picked-up  at  the  mo 
ment  this  photograph  was  taken  was  a  harmonica-solo  by  F.  P. 
Adams  of  New  York.  Mr.  Adams  holds  all  records  for  plain  and 
fancy  harmonica-work,  triple-tonguing,  echo-effects,  vox-humana  and 
choir-invisible.  The  maestro  was  accompanied  at  Newark,  by  D.  T. 
Smeed  on  the  pianoforte.  Had  the  great  artists  known  the  joy 
they  were  bringing  to  the  far-oflf  ice-maiden,  while  they  could  not 
have  put  their  backs  into  their  work  more  thoroughly,  they  would 
doubtless  have  felt  more  amply  repaid  than  they  did  when  they 
left  the  offices  of  the  Westinghouse  Company. 

The  number  tried  and  rendered  on  this  particular  occasion  was 
Tristan's  song  from  Der  Erl-Koenig,  the  immortal  lyric  beginning: 

"Childe  Hassam  to  a  dark  tower  came,"  and  ending  with  that 
pathetic  musical  fiasco 

"Placing    the    slughorn    to    his    lips, — 
He    blew!" 

The  hitherto-unheard  and  unheard-of  sound  of  a  B  flat  slughorn, 
reaching  into  these  frozen  fastnesses,  stirred  the  very  depths  of  the 
Eskimo  auditor,  while  the  white  strangers,  unconscious  of  the  emo 
tional  tumult  they  had  aroused,  assisted  by  Messrs.  Adams  and 
Smeed,  laughed  uproariously  at  the  scene.  Dr.  Traprock's  demeanor, 
especially,  is  positively  mephistophelian.  Can  it  be  that  he  thinks 
of  playing  the  satanic  role  to  Triplett's  Faust? 

Dr.  Traprock  assures  us  that  we  are  too  imaginative.  "It  was 
a  glorious  performance";  he  says:  "Long  may  its  frozen  echoes  hover 
'round  the  Pole,  to  thaw  out  in  successive  Springs  as  the  years  roll 
on.  I  shall  not  be  there  to  hear  them  but  I  shall  be  happy  to  think 
that  they  persist." 


A  Moment  Musical 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      211 

on  her  knees  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  hysterical 
weeping. 

"No,  no!"  she  wailed.  "I  found  them.  I  was 
putting  your  brief-case  in  order,  and  then  my 
curiosity  got  the  better  of  me  and  I  opened  them. 
But  read,  read!" 

Obeying  her  injunction  I  unfolded  the  papers, 
and  sat  back,  thunderstruck.  The  orders  were 
brevity  itself.  They  said  simply.  "Sail  south,  at 
once."  My  face  must  have  expressed  my  bewilder 
ment  for  she  continued.  "You  see!  You  see!  the 
moment  I  read  them  I  knew  these  orders  were  a 
plot,  a  plot  to  make  you  turn  back,  a  plot  to  dis 
credit  .  .  .  the  man  ...  I  love." 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  low  moan  and  her  shoulders 
were  again  racked  by  sobs.  I  saw  it  all  now.  Con 
sumed  by  jealousy,  knowing  the  contents  of  the 
papers,  she  had  withheld  them  until  her  woman's 
nature  could  stand  no  more.  In  the  dim  light  of 
the  cabin,  her  face  transfigured  with  tenderness, 
she  was  actually  beautiful. 

I  raised  her  gently  from  the  floor.  "That  will 
do,"  I  said. 

"I  am  sorry  .  .  .  sorry,"  she  moaned. 

I  pointed  to  the  companion  way  and  she  went  out 
silently. 


212      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

In  the  quarter  hour  which  followed  I  wrestled 
with  a  temptation  more  terrible  than  any  trial  of 
the  flesh,  the  trial  of  my  honor.  Once,  my  hand, 
holding  the  orders,  stretched  toward  the  cabin 
lamp ;  a  few  ashes,  and  all  would  be  solved.  Then 
I  hastily  drew  back  as  if  the  flame  had  scorched 
my  soul.  When  I  finally  arose,  spent  and  trem 
bling,  I  could  proclaim  myself  the  victor. 

"Traprock  must  be  true,"  I  muttered.  Then 
striding  to  the  hatchway  I  threw  it  open  and 
stepped  on  deck. 

"All  hands  aboard  to  receive  orders,"  I  bellowed. 

Amid  confused  murmurs  the  company  as 
sembled. 

"Sick?"  asked  Captain  Triplett  peering  at  my 
white  face. 

"No;  well,"  I  answered.  "Men,  stow  your  dun 
nage  at  once.  We  leave  in  four  hours  for  New 
York." 

Makuik  was  surprised,  but,  I  think,  not  dis 
pleased  to  see  us  depart.  Though  imperturbable, 
he  had  felt  the  responsibility  of  so  large  a  tribe. 
His  own  way  lay  toward  Iceland,  via  Ginnunagap 
and  Nivlheim.  Perhaps  he  felt  that  as  the  spring 
hunting-season  opened  his  movements  would  be 
hampered.  He  must  soon  be  on  the  march  in  order 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      213 

to  reach  his  destination  over  the  solid  ice  before  he 
was  cut  off  in  the  land  of  enemy  tribes  from  whom 
he  had  ravished  their  loveliest  possessions. 

At  any  rate  he  worked  with  a  will  to  speed  our 
departure.  Though  he  must  surely  have  counted  on 
the  probability  of  none  of  us  ever  reaching  safety 
he  remained  generous,  bright  and  smiling  to  the 
last,  insisting  on  dividing  what  remained  of  his  food 
supply  and  heaping  a  monumental  pile  of  oomiaks, 
spears  and  other  equipment  on  the  Kawa's  deck. 

When  we  had  turned  our  little  craft  about  and 
cast  off  our  moorings  I  stepped  into  the  space 
between  the  two  parties.  It  was  a  trying  moment. 
I  had  prepared  a  short  speech  for  the  occasion  but 
found  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  deliver  it. 

Advancing  toward  Makuik  I  silently  gave  the 
Kryptok  brotherhood  sign,  which  he  returned.  I 
had  not  seen  Ikik  since  the  previous  evening  but 
I  now  perceived  her  in  the  background  and  noticed 
that  wise  old  Makuik  had  made  fast  one  of  her 
ankles  to  a  large  block  of  ice. 

Approaching  her  quietly  I  hung  an  oil  skin 
tobacco  pouch  about  her  neck.  It  contained  a 
book-plate  bearing  the  Traprock  arms  *  and  the 

*  A  cerf-volant,  argent,  springing  over  a  barbican,  on  a  field,  or. 
The  whole  surrounded  by  a  garter.  See  Peluchet,  Hist,  des  Armoires. 


214      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

device  "Traprock  must  be  true.'*  On  the  back  of 
this  I  had  written,  in  Klinka  script,  "I  could  not 
love  thee,  dear,  so  much,  loved  I  not  honor  more.'* 

Blinded  with  tears,  I  turned  and  for  the  first 
time  in  many  blissful  weeks,  gave  the  old,  old,  com 
mand,  "Mush!" 

••••••• 

On  February  twelfth,  we  had  reached  eighty- 
five.  Progress  in  the  cold  and  dark  was  infinitely 
slower  than  it  had  been  during  the  warm  northward 
journey.  The  absence  of  mosquitoes  was  a  com 
pensation  but  on  the  whole  travel  was  much  more 
arduous.  The  mean  temperature  from  Jan.  1st  to 
Feb.  10th  was  68°  below,  the  meanest  I  have  ever 
encountered. 

But  I  was  in  no  hurry.  We  were  very  comforta 
ble  on  our  admirable  craft  and  a  careful  reckoning 
of  supplies  gave  me  no  cause  for  alarm.  According 
to  my  list,  we  should  be  able  to  hold  out  for  another 
year  if  worst  came  to  worst. 

It  came  to  worse  than  that. 

My  rude  awakening  came  on  February  17th. 

It  had  been  a  wretched  day  with  alternating  snow 
and  blizzard  gales.  The  thermometers  had  gone 
their  limit  (100  below)  and  would  have  gone 
further  if  they  had  been  longer.  Cooped  up  in  the 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      215 

cabin,  worn  with  toil,  frazzled  with  the  bickering 
of  the  card  players  to  whom  I  had  given  one  week 
of  grace  for  final  rounds  of  roodles,  my  nerves  were 
taut  and  jumpy.  I  ordered  Swank  to  step  aft  and 
fetch  me  a  plug  of  A-P.  He  was  gone  an  uncon 
scionable  time  and  when  he  returned  his  face  was 
blanched  with  terror. 

"The  bin's  empty,  Sir,"  he  reported. 

Empty ! 

I  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  Far  into  the  night 
I  went  over  my  bills  of  lading  promising  myself  a 
thorough  stock-taking  in  the  morning. 

But  the  disaffected  element  on  board  were  ahead 
of  me.  When  I  came  on  deck  the  following  day, 
they  were  grouped  in  the  waist  of  the  ship.  The 
only  greeting  I  got  was  black  looks.  Bulky  haver 
sacks  and  walking  gear  lay  piled  behind  them. 
Plock  stepped  forward  and  began  speaking  nerv 
ously  and  rapidly. 

"Traprock,"  he  said,  "this  is  where  we  quit. 
We've  had  enough  of  your  damned  seal-skin  ship 
and  your  pulling  and  hauling.  Its  dogs'  work,  not 
men's.  If  you  want  to  come  with  us,  come.  If 
not,  stay  here  and  freeze  to  hell.  We've  taken  our 
share  of  the  chow,  and  we're  off.  We  can  make 
better  time  without  you  than  with  you." 


216      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

I  was  unarmed  and  practically  alone.  The  only 
other  man  I  could  count  on,  on  deck,  was  Whinney 
and  he  was  still  half  blind.  But  I  did  not  hesitate 
a  second. 

Reaching  upward  I  grasped  a  heavy  icicle  which 
hung  from  the  main  stay  sail  block  and  raised  it 
high  above  my  head.  "Mutiny!"  I  cried.  Plock 
dodged  and  treacherously  thrust  in  front  of  him 
Dane,  who  received  the  full  force  of  the  blow.  At 
the  same  instant  the  crack  of  a  revolver  rang  out 
and  I  fell  senseless  to  the  deck. 

When  I  regained  consciousness  four  hours  later, 
my  first  act  was  to  stagger  to  my  feet.  The  bullet 
had  inflicted  only  a  bone-bruise,  just  grazing  my 
head,  and  thanks  to  Sausalito's  prompt  skill,  I  was 
still  alive.  She,  poor  creature,  in  her  humble  way, 
had  shown  naught  but  subservience  since  we  had 
started  southward. 

"Where  are  they?  Did  you  get  them?"  I 
shouted. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  Triplett,  shame-facedly. 
"They  got  away.  Took  most  'er  the  grub,  too. 
You  see  we  wuz  unprepared.  I  was  in  my  nighty." 

"So  was  I,"  echoed  Swank. 

"Fools!"  I  blazed.    "Idiots!    Cowards!    Follow 


me." 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE       217 

It  took  their  combined  efforts  to  hold  me  in  the 
cabin.  I  was  still  too  weak  to  put  up  much  of  a 
fight.  But  the  following  morning  we  started. 

Leaving  Whinney  alone,  with  instructions  to 
fire  an  answering  signal  if  he  heard  our  shots,  I 
divided  our  party  into  two  groups.  Dane,  I  might 
mention,  still  lay  senseless  in  the  lazarette.  Frissell 
went  with  Triplett,  Swank  and  Sausalito,  who  re 
fused  to  be  left  behind,  accompanied  me. 

My  instructions  were  to  circle  the  Kawa  with 
a  half  mile  radius  increasing  this  distance  each  time 
the  two  parties  met.  Five  times  this  toilsome 
operation  was  repeated.  Hundreds  of  times  I 
paused  to  scan  the  horizon  with  my  glasses.  The 
murky  daylight,  of  which  we  were  beginning  to 
have  a  scant  two  hours,  was  fading  and  I  was  in 
despair.  A  short  distance  from  the  ship  what  there 
had  been  of  a  trail  became  confused.  The  fugitives 
appeared  to  have  separated.  Perhaps  dissension  as 
to  direction  had  already  broken  out.  We  stumbled 
on  in  despair. 

Suddenly  a  cry  from  Sausalito  brought  me  up, 
standing.  Her  sharp  eyes  had  detected  nearly  a 
mile  away,  a  black  figure  moving  across  the  ice, 
the  bulky  form  of  Plock.  He  was  running  toward 
a  narrow  lead  of  open  water  of  which  we  had 


218      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

encountered  several  on  the  previous  day.  I  saw  at 
once  that  his  plan  was  to  leap  the  intervening  water 
and  trust  to  the  widening  breach  to  cut  off  pursuit. 
There  was  not  an  instant  to  lose. 

Adjusting  both  hind  and  fore  sights,  I  took  care 
ful  aim  and  fired. 

He  pitched  forward  in  the  act  of  jumping  and 
lay  on  the  very  edge  of  the  floe.  So  great  was  the 
impetus  of  his  huge  carcass,  that,  to  my  horror,  I 
saw  his  heavy  pack  slide  over  his  head  and  dis 
appear  into  the  inky  waters.  It  sank  instantly. 
He  was  stone  dead  when  we  came  up  to  him,  his 
body  already  rigid  with  cold. 

"We  shall  have  to  take  him  back,"  I  said.  In  my 
mind  was  a  fear,  born  of  past  experience,  that  we 
might  need  him. 

Dragging  our  loathsome  burden  we  made  a 
slow  trip  toward  the  supposed  location  of  the  Kawa. 
Black  night  had  fallen  and  we  could  see  nothing. 
A  fine  snow  set  in.  I  at  once  fired  the  danger 
signal  and  was  immensely  relieved  to  hear  answer 
ing  shots  from  a  direction  at  right  angles  to  that  in 
which  we  had  been  travelling.  Such  are  the  narrow 
squeaks  of  polar  travel. 

We  found  that  Triplett  and  Frissell  had  gotten 
in  before  us  bringing  the  half  frozen  Wigmore, 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      219 

whom  they  had  stumbled  across  by  pure  luck.  He 
was  without  supplies  or  oomiak  and  must  have 
perished  in  another  five  minutes.  When  he  had 
recovered  sufficiently  to  speak  he  confirmed  my 
suspicions.  Two  hours  out  from  the  Kawa  a  bitter 
quarrel  had  broken  out  and  the  deserters  had  sepa 
rated  but  not  before  Sloff  and  Plock  had  despoiled 
him  of  his  food  and  protecting  garments.  "Another 
mouth  to  feed,"  I  thought  bitterly. 

Sloff  and  Miskin  were  never  heard  of  again. 
Somewhere  in  the  heart  of  the  floe  their  bodies  lie, 
intact.  But  there  can  be  no  hell  hot  enough  for 
their  souls. 

Of  our  supplies  were  left  two  cases  of  herring 
and  a  bale  of  shredded  wheat,  for  seven  men  and 
one  woman. 


Now  if  ever  had  come  the  time  for  me  to  prove  to 
my  comrades  the  value  of  what  the  North  had 
previously  taught  me,  namely,  how  to  live  off  the 
ice.  As  has  been  proven  by  travellers  before  me, 
this  can  be  done.  But  the  reader  is  asked  to  re 
member  that  we  had  embarked  on  our  cruise  with  no 
suspicion  that  it  would  ever  be  necessary.  Our 
equipment  was  designed  for  a  mode  of  life  from 


DIRTY  WORK  AT  THE  IGLOO? 

No,  there  is  really  nothing  wrong  with  this  picture.  Dr.  Traprock 
explains  that  a  scene  of  this  sort,  while  unusual  is  not  extraordinary. 

North  of  Eighty-six  a  man's  rights  are  what  he  takes,  a  woman's 
what  she  can  get.  The  facts  of  this  particular  case  are  as  follows: 
Lapatok  had  captured  a  young  pemmican  in  a  snare  of  her  own  de 
vising.  Unaware  that  she  was  being  observed  by  the  all-seeing  eye 
of  her  husband,  Makuik,  she  began  stripping  off  the  bird's  feathers 
and  scales  (with  which  its  underside  is  covered)  with  her  teeth, 
apparently  preparatory  to  eating  it.  This  is  absolutely  contrary  to 
Kryptok  law.  All  food  is  the  common  property  of  the  family  and 
must  be  instantly  brought  before  the  Aklok  or  Strong  Man  to  be 
cached  by  him  in  the  community  food  bin.  Failure  to  do  this 
means  death. 

Makuik  was  quick  to  act.  The  expression  on  his  face  leaves  no 
doubt  that  he  would  speedily  have  exacted  the  extreme  penalty 
(partial  as  he  was  to  Lapatok)  had  she  not  been  able,  with  her 
next-to-last  breath,  to  gasp  out  the  time-honored  words  "Na-pok !" — 
"our  child." 

In  the  few  moments  allowed  her  she  explained  that  her  inten 
tion  had  been  merely  to  masticate  the  bird,  giving  the  first  share 
to  Kopek,  her  infant,  who  was  at  that  very  moment  desperately 
stricken  with  the  teething-sickness,  and  bringing  the  remainder  to 
her  lord  and  master.  With  true  womanly  ingenuity  she  likewise 
pleaded  that  as  the  latest  of  Makuik's  wives  and  a  member  of  the 
Klinka  tribe  she  knew  nothing  of  Kryptok  law.  She  thus  appealed 
both  to  her  husband's  heart  and  head  with  the  result  that  he  let 
her  off  with  nothing  more  serious  than  a  severe  beating  which  was 
terminated  by  the  stern  injunction,  "Kapok  Fakalok  ook." — "A 
woman's  place  is  in  the  Igloo."  The  pemmican  in  the  meanwhile  es 
caped  and  may  be  seen  as  illustrated,  winging  his  way  out  of  focus. 

As  if  touched  by  his  wife's  plea  and  anxious  to  re-establish  both 
her  good-will  and  his  own  authority,  Makuik  later  killed  the  fowl 
on  the  wing  with  sling-dart  thrown  from  a  distance  of  forty  salmon* 
spears.  (Approximately  280  ft.) 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      223 

which  only  the  treachery  of  a  human  element  had 
forced  us  to  depart. 

And  now  we  were  to  experience  that  fatal  lack 
of  living  game  which  as  I  have  noted,  seems  to 
haunt  the  foot  steps  of  the  hunter  to  whom  game 
is  a  dreadful  necessity.  The  season  was  still  early 
and  bird  life  was  practically  extinct  north  of  the 
circle.  Occasionally  we  sighted  an  isolated  pemmi- 
can  or  a  tiny  lapwing,  too  distant  or  too  small  to 
be  shot  at.  Our  store  of  ammunition  was  much 
too  scarce  to  be  wasted  in  pot  shots.  Of  seals  and 
walruses  we  saw  absolutely  none. 

Day  after  day,  in  the  grisly  dawn  of  the  new 
season,  we  crept  on.  Day  after  day  we  tightened 
our  belts  and  stared  each  other  in  the  face.  And  in 
the  face  of  each  stared  a  spectre  more  grisly  still. 

A  few  entries  from  my  diary  will  best  record  the 
harrowing  tale  of  what  followed. 

"Feb.  23rd.  Ate  the  last  of  herring  this  noon. 
Reduced  wheat  ration  to  y>>  cake  for  person. 
Sorted  extra  clothing  (Flock's)  for  possible  food. 

Feb.  27th.  Shredded-wheat  supply  fast  di 
minishing.  S.  busy  all  day  cleaning  Flock's  oomiak 
and  leggins.  Will  it  come  to  him? 

March  3rd.  Last  of  leggins  for  lunch.  Whinney 
slightly  ill,  but  eyesight  improving.  A  good  day's 


224      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

hauling.    Crossed  two  open  leads  but  saw  no  seal. 

March  4th.  A  great  day!  Sighted  seal  herd 
two  miles  away,  the  first  we  have  seen  on  the  floe. 
Stalked  them  carefully,  taking  Frissell  with  me. 
By  "playing  seal,"  yooping  and  crawling,  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  into  the  very  center  of  herd  where 
we  killed  two  with  atomizers.  A  great  saving  of 
ammunition.  Seal  gorge  tonight. 

March  5th.    All  hands  ill. 

March  6th.    Same. 

March  12th.  Finished  last  of  seal.  Flock's 
oomiak  tomorrow. 

March  14th.    No  food  whatsoever.    Very  weak. 

March  15th.    Same.    Weaker. 

March  16th.  (The  writing  is  almost  illegible) 
Flock. 

March  19th.  Finished  Flock.  Tough,  as 
always." 

March  20th  dawned  as  a  day  of  despair.  My 
companions,  weakened  by  starvation,  refused  to 
pull  another  ounce.  We  had  come  to  a  standstill. 
Scarcely  able  to  stand,  desperate,  but  still  unwilling 
to  admit  myself  beaten,  I  set  forth  alone. 

Swank  would  have  accompanied  me  but  fell  as 
he  attempted  to  climb  down  to  the  ice  and  was 
unable  to  rise. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      225 

"Don't  go,"  he  pleaded. 

"Herman,"  I  said,  "if  the  Traprock  expedition 
perishes,  Traprock  will  be  the  first  man  to  go." 

I  wrung  his  hand  and  departed.  Four  miles 
from  the  ship  I  fainted.  Regaining  consciousness 
I  crawled  on,  on  my  hands  and  knees.  Another 
spasm  of  dizziness  seized  me  and  I  sank  down  to 
rest.  As  I  did  so,  a  far-off  sound  reached  me,  the 
faint  roaring  of  a  bull  seal.  Peering  across  the 
floe  I  saw  him  dimly.  He  must  have  been  slightly 
over  a  mile  away.  At  6000  yards  I  fixed  him 
tremblingly  on  the  crossed  wires  of  my  telescopic 
sight.  Even  then  his  image  was  vague,  but  it  was 
now  or  never. 

Bang!  A  louder  roar  reached  me  and  I  saw  the 
great  brute  raise  himself  convulsively.  But  would 
he  still  escape  me  ?  No !  He  lay  still. 

When  I  reached  him  two  hours  later  I  saw,  some 
what  to  my  chagrin,  why  he  had  not  moved.  He 
was  a  giant  chap  of  the  "phoca  barbata"  family, 
the  bearded  seal.  His  beard  was  frozen  in  the  ice. 

My  shot  had  been  wasted.* 

Fate  seems  sometimes  to  play  her  last  trick  on  a 

*  On  all  my  trips  I  have  carried  the  gun  I  refer  to,  a  Mannlicher- 
Schopenhauer,  6  MM,  extra  heavy.  There  is  nothing  compares  with 
it  for  long  range  fire.  W.  E.  T. 

is 


226      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

man  and,  finding  she  cannot  down  him,  suddenly 
gives  up  and  turns  to  helping  him.  So  it  was  in 
my  case. 

Fortified  by  a  draught  of  warm  seal  oil,  which 
was  like  nectar  to  my  lips,  I  made  my  way  back  to 
the  Kawa  with  as  much  of  the  great  carcass  as  I 
could  carry.  The  rest  was  speedily  brought  aboard. 
The  effect  of  the  physical  reinforcement  was  magi 
cal. 

Not  only  did  my  comrades'  spirits  revive  but  such 
minor  ailments  as  had  put  in  an  appearance  were 
immediately  dissipated.  Triplett  got  well  of  a 
touch  of  his  old  scurvy  which  had  been  bothering 
him.  Whinney's  eyes  cleared  up  completely  and 
Wigmore  who  had  been  quite  daffy  since  his  rescue, 
became  suddenly  sane  again  and,  I  am  glad  to  say, 
devoutly  thankful  to  me  for  having  preserved  him 
from  the  fate  of  his  companions. 

The  weather,  too,  favored  us.  Constantly  in 
creasing  light  and  rising  temperature  brought  at 
last  the  wonderful  realization  that  we  had  entered 
the  zone  of  spring!  Never  did  Spring  dawn  so 
gloriously  in  my  life. 

Our  progress  was  now  rapid  with  the  Tutbury 
running  magnificently  on  a  mixture  of  whale  and 
seal  oil,  with  both  main  and  jigger  drawing  to  a 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      227 

quartering  breeze,  we  were  making  approximately 
twelve  knots.  A  school  of  porpoises  gambled  about 
us  as  merrily  as  if,  as  Frissell  said,  "school  were 
out!"  Whales  and  walruses  spouted  under  our 
lee.  The  date  was  April  third. 

Sausalito,  indomitable  soul,  who  had  never 
faltered,  had  climbed  to  her  favorite  place  in  the 
crow's  nest.  From  this  high  perch  I  suddenly  heard 
her  voice,  shrill  with  excitement. 

"Land  ho!    Land  hoJ" 

A  sturdy  cheer  went  up  to  meet  her  and  we  all 
scanned  the  low-lying  cloud  on  the  southern  sky 
line  while  Sausalito  modestly  descended. 

It  was  indeed  land.  Eight  hours  later  we 
dropped  anchor  in  a  sheltered  bay.  The  sun  had 
sunk  below  the  horizon  and  violet  dusk  seemed  to 
rise  from  the  still  water. 

Three  miles  away  the  lights  of  an  eskimo  village 
twinkled  through  the  haze  and  on  the  falling  breeze 
we  caught  the  sound  of  the  sweetest  singing  that 
had  ever  fallen  on  human  ears. 

It  was  the  song  of  the  workers  in  the  ice  fields, 
harvesting  the  new  crop  for  our  own  America! 


CHAPTER  X 

In  home  waters.  The  celebration  in  our  honor. 
And  what  of  my  companions?  Reveries  and 
Recollections.  The  End. 


229 


CHAPTER  X 

The  balance  of  my  story  is  briefly  told.  On 
April  twenty-third,  we  picked  up  Fire  Island  light 
and  two  hours  later  had  received  a  clean  bill  of 
health  from  the  quarantine  station. 

The  trip  back  through  Baffin  Bay  had  been  un 
eventful.  We  had  come  as  we  had  gone,  in  a  direct 
line.  At  Triplett's  request  we  put  in  at  St. 
John's.  He  went  ashore,  taking  Sausalito  with  him. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  he  returned,  alone.  His 
stony  eye  forbade  cross  examination,  but  I  ques 
tioned  him  that  night  in  the  cabin. 

"She's  went  back  to  Californy"  he  said.  "You 
see,  I  got  kinder  tired  of  her.  Besides  I'm  headin' 
back  ter  Noo  York." 

Again  his  slow  wink  expressed  volumes. 

I  have  not  seen  that  strange  woman  since.  She 
sends  me  a  picture  post  card  occasionally,  usually 
a  winter  scene,  with  mica  snow.  It  is  her  inarticu- 

231 


THE  CONSULTATION 

Nothing  was  more  characteristic  of  the  candor  and  co-operative 
spirit  of  the  Commander  of  the  Traprock  Expedition  than  his  con 
stant  willingness  to  discuss  matters  with  his  fellow-travellers.  One 
of  the  most  moot  of  all  moot  questions  which  frequently  presented 
itself  was  that  of  route.  Having  arrived  at  a  certain  or  uncertain 
point  in  the  vast  snowfields,  someone  was  sure  to  ask,  "Where  do 
we  go  from  here?"  or  "Where  do  you  think  you  are  now?" 

From  the  outset  Dr.  Traprock  realized  the  desirability  of  an 
answer  to  such  interrogations.  His  experience  during  numerous 
previous  Arctic  voyages  convinced  him  that  most  of  the  bitterness  of 
feeling  which  almost  inevitably  disrupts  polar-parties  springs  from 
the  unwillingness,  to  put  it  mildly,  of  the  leader  to  satisfy  the  natural 
curiosity  of  his  men  in  this  regard.  In  order  to  avoid  this  diffi 
culty  he  had  carefully  perpared  maps  showing  the  progress  made 
during  each  day  with  the  projected  itinerary,  points  of  interest,  and 
probable  weather  conditions.  Colored  crayons  added  a  decorative 
value  to  the  charts. 

We  here  see  him  explaining  to  Wigmore,  the  somewhat  belligerent 
snow-and-ice-expert,  the  proposed  return  route.  Instead  of  confus 
ing  the  rather  unscientific  man  with  a  mass  of  latitudinal  and  longi 
tudinal  figures,  the  Doctor  states  the  whole  matter  clearly  by  saying, 
"We  simply  follow  the  green  line." 

The  fatal  results  of  disregarding  this  injunction  are  embodied  in 
the  text.  Needless  to  say  they  fully  prove  the  value  of  the  Com 
mander's  cartographical  skill.  An  interesting  sidelight  is  the  fact 
that  their  daily  charts  were  equally  accurate  when  based  on  solar 
observation  or  during  the  long  Arctic  night  when  the  only  basis 
of  authority  was  Captain  Triplett's  amazing  bump  of  locality, 
which  was  about  the  size  of  a  hen's-egg. 


A  Consultation 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE       235 

late  way  of  asking  forgiveness  for  the  blow  she 
dealt  me. 

Just  inside  the  three  mile  limit  we  were  boarded 
by  revenue  officers  from  the  patrol  boat,  W.  H. 
Anderson.  They  made  a  careful  search  for 
liquor. 

"Back  to  abnormalcy!"  carped  Swank  who  was 
panting  to  get  ashore. 

My  wires  from  Grant  Land  (via  Indian  runners 
to  Moose  Factory)  had  warned  the  scientific  world 
of  our  arrival.  Further  details,  giving  brief  ac 
counts  of  the  deaths  of  Plock,  Miskin  and  Sloff  had 
been  telegraphed  from  St.  John's. 

The  same  gala  array  and  marine  salutation  which 
had  sped  our  departure  welcomed  our  return.  But 
it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  I  stepped  on  the 
Yacht  Club  landing  stage.  My  mysterious  orders 
were  still  to  be  explained,  orders  which,  had  they 
reached  me  when  intended,  would  have  brought  me 
ignominiously  home,  empty  of  honors  and  achieve 
ment. 

A  number  of  strange  faces  surrounded  me  in  the 
club  room  among  which  I  recognized  Harris,  the. 
E.U.  secretary,  "Harmless"  Harris  we  used  to  call 
him. 

"Where  is  Waxman?"    I  asked  coldly. 


236      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

A  shadow  of  pain  flitted  across  his  face. 

"Of  course,"  he  murmured.  "You  haven't 
heard  ...  it  was  very  sudden  .  .  .  poor  Wax- 
man  .  .  .  heart  failure,  you  know  .  .  .  the  day 
after  we  heard  of  your  safe  arrival." 

So  my  old  friend  Waxman  was  gone.  With  the 
receipt  of  this  news  I  instantly  dismissed  all  unkind 
thoughts  I  may  have  had  of  this  benevolent  old 
man.  As  I  look  at  his  photograph  now,  on  my 
mantelpiece,  bland  and  serene,  it  seems  to  breathe 
a  benediction  upon  me.  The  pleading  look  in  his 
eyes  seems  still  to  ask  for  peanuts.  May  I  cherish 
always,  as  he  did,  a  love  for  other  explorers  and  an 
interest  in  their  exploits. 

If  anything  was  calculated  to  further  soften  my 
heart  it  was  the  more  joyous  occasion  which  fol 
lowed,  the  grand  banquet  given  in  my  honor  at 
the  Hotel  Commodore.  That  entire,  mighty  hive 
hummed  with  explorers  and  noted  travellers.  Over 
flow  meetings  were  held  in  the  Biltmore,  Yale  Club, 
Grand  Central  Station  and  on  nearby  subway 
platforms. 

The  scene  in  the  ballroom  beggared  description. 
On  the  dais  with  me  sat  representatives  of  all  the 
National  scientific  bodies  and  distinguished  guests 
from  abroad.  Publishers,  artists  and  editors  were 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE       237 

present  by  the  hundreds.  Famous  actors  forced 
their  way  to  my  chair,  above  which  blossomed  the 
words  "Traprock  must  be  true"  done  in  thousands 
of  Bougainvilias  and  snowdrops. 

The  colleges  of  the  country  had  sent  their  delega 
tions,  my  own  Alma  Mater  surpassing  all  with  a 
group  of  two  hundred  bright-faced  lads  whose 
merry  songs  and  cheers  made  the  welkin  ring. 
They  had  come  by  special  train  from  New  Haven, 
accompanied  by  members  of  the  faculty,  for  whom 
the  affair  was  a  great  junket,  you  may  be  sure. 
Harvard  stood  officially  aloof  owing  to  their  recent 
ban  on  Eskimos,  but  the  great  sister  university,  as 
well  as  Princeton,  was  represented  by  individuals 
who  made  up  in  enthusiasm  what  they  lacked  in 
numbers. 

When  my  brothers  in  the  Phi  Chapter  of  D.K.E. 
arose  and  sang  our  fraternal  anthem  I  felt  obliged 
to  remain  seated.  Let  me  here  explain  that  curious 
action.  It  was  because  my  mind  went  back  to  that 
period  of  terrific  strain  when  I  had  actually  eaten 
a  Brother! 

But  the  thing  which  touched  me  most  deeply*  was 

*  Excepting,  perhaps,  the  long  telegram  from  my  old  friend  Capt. 
Peter  Fitzurse,  explaining  that  he  was  unavoidably  detained  cor 
recting  the  proof  of  his  forthcoming  autobiography.  See  appendix 
for  further  light  on  Fitzurse's  claim  that  the  three  fingers  missing 


238      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

the  presence,  at  adjoining  tables  of  the  combined 
Boards  of  Trade  of  Derby  and  Shelton,  sister 
cities  of  the  Housatonic,  and  the  Derby  Fencibles, 
forty  strong,  accompanied  by  their  fife  and  drum 
corps  wearing  the  old  continental  uniforms.  My 
eyes  dimmed  as  I  thought  of  the  stirring  times  when 
I  had  stepped  to  that  same  inspiring  music,  as  we 
practised  our  secret  marches  back  of  the  old  Ster 
ling  Melodeon  factory. 

The  chairman  of  the  evening  was  my  lifelong 
friend  Irving  T.  Grosbeak,  R.O.T.C.  who  was  in 
troduced  by  Luther  Slattin  the  new  president  of 
the  E.U.  Other  addresses  were  made  by  Professor 
Phineas  A.  Crutch,*  F.P.A.,  S.O.S.,  Col.  Wood- 
wark  of  the  Canadian  Mounted  and  Lord  Beaver- 
board  of  the  South  African  Game  Commission. 
The  principal  forensic  display  was  by  Ex- 
senator  Wicklefield  of  Wyoming  whom  Dr.  Gros 
beak  characterised  brilliantly  as  "The  Aurora 
Borealis  of  Oratory,  the  most  dependable  geyser  in 
the  world  since  Old  Faithful  blew  up  and  became 
a  brook." 

But  the  climax  of  the  evening  came  when  an  old 

from  his  right  hand  actually  were  frozen  off  when  he  grasped  the 
North  Pole.  W.  E.  T. 

*  Author  of  "The  Queen  of  Sheba." 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      239 

man  in  a  red  shirt  and  fire  helmet  tottered  to  my 
side  and  with  tears  streaming  down  his  face, 
quavered,  "The  world  may  claim  Walter  Traprock 
but  we  own  him." 

It  was  old  "Shelly"  Smith  of  Naugatuck  Hose 
Co.  No.  1.  His  father  used  to  spade  our  garden. 

Of  course  I  was  called  upon  for  a  speech  but  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  begged  to  be  excused. 
My  heart  was  too  full.  Captain  Triplett  stood  up 
in  my  place  and  embarrassed  me  by  pointing  his 
horny  finger  in  my  direction  and  saying  repeatedly, 
"He  done  it." 

Grammatical  errors  in  public  always  annoy 
me. 

The  rest  is  history.  I  shall  never  return  to  the 
North.  I  feel  that  I  have  seen  all  that  it  can  offer. 
My  work  in  that  direction  is  done. 

Of  those  who  returned  writh  me  all  but  one  has 
carved  his  niche  in  the  rocks  of  time.  The  excep 
tion  is  Dane,  who  has  never  fully  recovered  from 
the  blow  dealt  him,  by  my  arm  indeed,  but  due  to 
the  cowardly  shove  of  Plock.  His  work  in  com 
parative  ethnology,  however,  was  accomplished 
before  he  was  stricken.  His  object  in  making  the 
trip  was  to  discover  the  similarities,  if  any,  between 
the  surviving  Eskimo  tribes  and  the  early  civiliza- 


240      MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE 

tion  of  the  Nile  dynasties.  The  only  entry  I  find 
in  his  note  books  is  the  rather  pathetic  one  "no 
report." 

He  is  now  occupying  a  comfortable  room  in  the 
Shadyside  Retreat,  Walnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  where 
he  busies  himself  cutting  out  paper  dolls  of 
Egyptian  character,  and  where  I  occasionally  visit 
him. 

Frissell  remains  the  same  blithe  spirit  as  ever. 
The  horrors  of  our  return  voyage  left  no  more  last 
ing  impression  on  this  debonair  youth  than  a 
passing  fit  of  seasickness. 

Swank  and  Whinney  naturally  show  spiritual 
scars,  especially  the  latter,  though  he  is  greatly 
cheered  by  the  royalties  received  from  the  sale 
of  his  sprightly  journal,  written  in  total  darkness.* 
My  two  close  companions  and  I,  with  the  occasional 
addition  of  Triplett  when  we  can  lure  him  from 
his  own  diggings  often  dine  together  at  a  cosy 
little  tea  house  in  Forty-fifth  Street.  There  we 
plan  new  ventures  and  discuss  the  old.  What  stir 
ring  memories  flock  about  us,  what  tender  visions 
neath  Tropic  sun  and  Arctic  stars ! 

Kippiputuona,    Babai,    Ikik,    Lapatok,    their 

•Light  on  the  Pole,  by  R.  Whinney.     $5.00  net,  $4.50  in  lots  of 
six.    Post.  prep.  Intr.  by  Prof.  C.  Towne,  Nyack  University. 


MY  NORTHERN  EXPOSURE      241 

names  are  a  sentimental  rosary,  a  succession  of 
lovely  chords,  lost  chords,  but,  let  us  hope,  not  the 
last! 

At  a  recent  meeting  the  recollection  of  Whin- 
ney's  affliction  evoked  from  him  this  brave 
comment. 

"Just  think!"  he  mused,  "to  love  a  woman,  to  lose 
her,  and  to  never  see  her." 

"Whinney,"  I  said,  raising  my  glass  in  his 
direction,  "there  is  more  in  life  than  merely 
seeing." 


APPENDIX 

IN  reference  to  a  note  on  page  180,  it  seems  de 
sirable  to  reprint  below  (1)  a  paragraph  which 
recently  appeared  in  a  New  York  newspaper  over 
the  signature  of  Don  Marquis,  and  (2)  a  copy  of 
the  letter  written  by  Dr.  Traprock  to  Mr.  Marquis 
clearing  up  the  point  in  question.  Ed. 


A  great  deal  of  doubt  is  cast  by  his  strange 
reticences  upon  the  recent  claim  of  Dr.  Walter 
E.  Traprock  that  he  reached  the  North  Pole.  Did 
he,  or  did  he  not,  find  three  fingers  at  the  Pole  which 
were  frozen  off  of  the  hand  of  Capt.  Peter  Fitzurse 
when  the  Captain  grasped  the  Pole,  more  than  forty 
years  ago,  being  the  first  man  to  lay  his  hand  upon 
it?  If  he  did  not  find  these  fingers,  he  did  not  reach 
the  Pole.  If  he  found  them,  and  has  said  nothing 
about  it,  his  object  in  concealing  the  fact  can  be 
nothing  else  than  an  unworthy  jealousy.  Who  is 
this  Traprock,  anyhow?  Capt.  Fitzurse  intimates 

243 


244  APPENDIX 

that  at  the  proper  time  he  has  startling  revelations 
to  make.  It  is  significant  that  Traprock  was  first 
heard  of  a  year  or  two  after  Dr.  Cook  ceased  to 
figure  in  the  public  prints. 


On  Board  "Kawa" 
Peck's  Slip,  N.  Y. 
July  21,  1922. 

Don  Marquis,  Esq. 
Park  Row, 
New  York  City. 

Dear  Sir: — 

A  number  of  my  friends  have  called  my  attention 
to  recent  remarks  published  over  your  signature 
which  by  insinuation  cast  a  veil  of  ambiguity  over 
my  identity.  I  am  not  used  to  having  veils  cast  over 
me  and  I  resent  the  practice. 

"Who  is  this  person,  Traprock?"  you  ask.  "Has 
he  ever  been  to  the  North  Pole?" 

Let  the  ice-bergs  answer!  Let  the  Polar-pack 
groan  its  reply.  I  scorn  to. 

You  also  ask  if  by  any  chance  I  discovered  three 
fingers  frozen  to  the  Pole.  I  did  find  three  fingers 
not  frozen  to  the  Pole,  but  preserved  in  an  other 
wise  empty  gin  bottle.  They  were  cached  in  a  rude 


APPENDIX  245 

cairn,  mute  memorials  of  some  brave  man  who  had 
ventured  north  of  eighty-six.  Of  course  I  at  once 
thought  of  my  friend  Fitzurse.  Could  they  be  his  ? 
The  nails  were  not  black  enough,  but  I  could  not 
be  sure. 

I  took  them  with  me  to  the  Pole,  purposing  to 
leave  them  with  my  records,  but  my  plans  were 
modified  by  the  extraordinary  attraction  which  the 
fingers  had  for  Ikik,  Snak  and  Yalok,  three  Eskimo 
women  whom  I  found  living  at  the  Pole,  or  to  be 
exact,  under  it. 

How,  finally,  to  preserve  peace  I  divided  the 
fingers  giving  one  to  each  to  wear  as  a  talisman  is 
an  enlivening  memory.  A  few  days  later,  noticing 
that  Ikik  was  not  wearing  her  finger  I  questioned 
her  as  to  its  whereabouts.  "Me  eat"  she  said,  The 
others  had  done  likewise.  I  trust  that  any  doubts 
you  may  have  had  in  regard  to  my  identity  etc.  will 
be  dissipated  by  these  circumstantial  details. 

Yours, 
Walter  E.  Traprock 


The 
Cruise  of  the  Kawa 

By 

Dr.  Walter  E.  Traprock, 

F.  R.  S.  S.  E.  U. 

A  delicious  literary  burlesque — superlatively 
amusing.  Here  are  found  the  wak<wak<  that 
horrid  super-seamonster ;  the  gallant  fatu'liva 
birds  who  lay  square  eggs;  the  flowing  hoopa 
bowl,  and  the  sensuous  nabtscus  plant;  the 
tantalizing,  tatooing,  fabulous  folk  music;  the 
beautiful,  trusting  Filbertine  women  and  their 
quaint  marriage  customs,  as  well  as  the  dread 
results  of  the  white  man's  coming — all  described 
with  a  frank  freedom,  literary  charm  and  meticu 
lous  regard  for  truth  which  is  delightful. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Kawa  stands  unique  among 
the  literature  of  modern  exploration.  Nothing 
like  it  has  ever  come  out  of  the  South  Seas.  It 
is  the  travel  book  of  years.  Strikingly  illustrated, 
too,  from  special  photographs,  it  tells  pictorially, 
as  well  as  verbally,  the  exciting,  amusing  and 
entertaining  story  of  an  exploration  in  the  South 
Seas. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Nonsenseorship 

Sundry  Observations  Concerning 
Prohibitions,  Inhibitions  and 
Illegalities  " 

A  brilliant  assortment  of  protests- 
amusing,  instructive,  and  wholly  enter 
taining.  Highly  timely,  too,  in  these 
days  of  censorial  activity.  Those  whose 
gems  of  comment  are  included  in  this 
volume  range  from  Heywood  Broun,  who 
maintains  that  "a  censor  is  a  man  who 
has  read  Joshua  and  forgotten  Canute," 
to  Frederick  O'Brien,  of  the  South  Seas, 
who  contributes  a  wonderful  new  word 
to  the  vocabulary  of  censorship,  to  wit, 
—~~  '— '  "wowzer."  A  "  wowzer,"  it  appears, 

is  a  sort  of  super-inhibitionist. 

Each  of  the  following  has  contributed  a  chapter  anent 
his  or  her  pet  prohibition :  Heywood  Broun,  George 
Chappell,  Wallace  Irwin,  Ruth  Hale,  Ben  Hecht,  Helen 
Bullitt  Lowry,  Dorothy  Parker,  Frederick  O'Brien,  John 
Weaver,  Frank  Swinnerton,  H.  M.  Tomlinson,  Robert 
Keable,  Charles  Hanson  Towne,  Alexander  Woolcott,  and 
the  author  of  the  Mirrors  of  Washington. 

Altogether  Nonsenseorship  presents  a  collection  of 
daring,  amusing  comment  on  subjects  of  more  than 
national  interest.  The  15  illustrations  are  by  Ralph 
Barton,  each  a  full-page  caricature  of  a  contributor  appro 
priately  environed. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


